


Come Home

by Amelia_Earheart



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Abortion, Bedsharing, Canon-Typical Violence, Codependency, Dominant Tommy Shelby, Dubious Morality, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Incest, Jealousy, Period-Typical Racism, Possessive Behavior, Rebellion, Reunions, Secret Relationship, Sibling Love, Teenage Pregnancy, Unhealthy Levels of Attachment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:42:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 14
Words: 57,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27699830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amelia_Earheart/pseuds/Amelia_Earheart
Summary: Tommy's younger sister, Ana, isn't coping with his extended absence well. The remaining Shelby's are having a difficult time keeping her in line. Can she survive without her brother? How will she answer for the things she's done when he finally returns?.+.“Don’t.” But I might as well have said nothing, for all the good it did.“Sweetest Anabel, like the roses in June. I hope she’ll smile soon. My sweetest, sweetest Anabel.” He sang under his breath, into the skin beneath my ear. It was the song he’d sung to me as a child, whenever I got hurt playing in the street with Finn, or pissed off Polly enough to be put on punishment. He rocked the both of us, to and fro, until I unclenched.“I’m not your sweet little girl anymore,” I said.“So I heard. What are you now,hmm?”.+.DISCLAIMER:I have no time for offended parties. Please read the tags. If the tags don't upset you (key word: *fiction*), then welcome.
Relationships: Michael Gray & Original Female Character(s), Tommy Shelby & Original Female Character(s), Tommy Shelby/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 152
Kudos: 290





	1. Come Home

**Author's Note:**

> Starts out light. In later chapters, becomes gradually darker. And more... risque. 
> 
> Enjoy.

“What’s your name, Miss?” A man of at least forty-years leaned on the bar next to me, bringing with him the smell of horse piss. 

_You, there. Young woman. Maid. Rich girl. Two-bit whore. Fucking Shelby._

I’ve been called all manner of things, though my mother had the good sense to name me Anabel. Anabel Eliza Shelby. She couldn’t have known how little people would come to use the name she chose. God willing—one day I’ll live in the quiet of the country, where no one knows who I am or has any reason to speak of me. 

_Ana._

Tommy had started the trend and the rest of the Shelby family, as they were wont to do, had followed suit. 

_Little Ana. Little Bell. Bellflower._

The youngest girl. Ada’s shadow. Finn’s terrorizer. John used to say I snuck my way into the family, while Polly never could stop retelling the story of how my mother dreamed of spring the night before I was born. How the vernal equinox preceded my birth by less than a week. How one of the worst snowstorms in Birmingham history had effectively _fucked off_ upon my entering the world. She thought I brought the springtime, that woman, and she’d made it known my entire life. 

I won’t go into me childhood. Not now. It’s irrelevant. What’s relevant is this: I did not bring the spring. My name is not Young Woman. Nor is it Whore, Rich Girl, or Bell. I am not a flower, that’s for fucking sure. 

With a puff of my cigarette, I answered blithely: “Just turned sixteen, you dirty old fuck.” 

The man drew back in shock. Within a charged split-second I knew without a doubt he wanted to strike me. Men aren’t subtle about hiding the violence in their eyes. Not like women. I can always tell when they’ve switched the flip, when the lights have gone out. Three war-torn, out-of-their-God-fearing-minds, _I’ll beat you to death for looking at me sideways_ brothers would teach anyone how to spot the specific strain of anger which almost always leads to physical violence. 

Fortunately, or unfortunately, inspiring anger in my brothers was one of my favorite pastimes. 

“Go on. Hit me.” I cocked my jaw, presenting him with the side of my face. “Won’t change the fact that you smell of piss and I wouldn’t fuck you if you were twenty years younger and had all the money in the world.” 

And there you have it. Flip, switched. His eyes went dark as the cellar beneath Watery Lane. A clenched fist wound up, preparing to spring forth and knock the sense out of me head, but my hand was quicker. _Quicker than heat lightning_ , Finn liked to complain. A bottle of gin splintered over his head. He crumbled, like dust. 

Everyone in the bar was looking now, as I slipped off the barstool and adjusted my dress. Below, the man clutched his head and groaned. My fingers curled into his short hair and pulled upwards, hard. 

“Ah!” 

“My name…” I could feel his blood, slick and warm, on my fingertips. “… is Anabel.” I sent the toe of my heel into his stomach, gripping him harder when he tried to keel forward. “Fucking! Shelby!” I kicked him again. And once more, for good measure. And again, for pleasure’s sake. And perhaps one more time, if a hand hadn’t wrapped around my arm. 

When I turned, Michael stared coolly back. 

“We need to go,” he said. “Now.”

“Fucker deserved it.” I sent another kick into the man’s midsection. He was practically comatose at that point—red-tinged drool slipping from the corners of his mouth—but it was the action that mattered. It was the release I needed. 

Michael gripped my arm and spoke lowly into my ear. “Stop, Ana. You know Tommy wouldn’t like this.” 

The mention of Thomas awoke something sickly inside of me. A spirit of helplessness overwhelmed my violent high and, though I had a man by the nape of his neck and had reduced him to a slobbering mess, I felt weaker than ever. This weakness, like the eleven or twelve ounces of Bourbon streaming through my blood, couldn’t be processed and thus became anger again in the blink of an eye. 

“Who gives an _ever-loving fuck_ what the fuck Thomas would like?!? He’s not fucking ‘ere, is he? He’s not even fucking—. He’s not even—” I’d reached my limit without realizing. Drunkenness came like high tide and washed over me. My hand went slack and the man on the floor finally succumbed to gravity. 

_Thump._

Michael seized the moment to haul me over his shoulder. As he turned to leave the club, he issued a short: “Nothing to see here.” 

.+.

That same night—after he’d pulled my shoes off, placed me into bed and dragged the covers up to my chin—Michael stood in the doorway of my room with his hands stuffed in his pockets. Weak candlelight only allowed me to see the tips of him: his nose, his suit lapels, his glistening cuff links. The entire center of him was dark. He looked like a specter. A shadow of another man, who’d once stood in the doorway of my room.

“I know you miss him,” he’d started, his voice almost too low to hear. Lost in the hazy space between drunkenness and sleep, I strained to understand him. “I know it’s been hard. But you can’t keep actin’ this way. One day—soon, I think—Tommy’s gonna come back and we’re all gonna have to answer to everything we did while he was away. You’re gonna have to explain how the sweet girl he left behind turned into a bloody menace.”

“Fuck off,” I mumbled. 

“You first,” he said. “You’re a right handful, Ana. I’ll be happy to lose the responsibility of you when he gets back.” 

He wasn’t serious. Michael did a lot of coke and conducted a lot of business, and yet he couldn’t hide his emotions for shit. He’d been more than happy to assume the task of wrangling his out-of-control cousin once Tommy left for business in Africa. Unasked. 

“Don’t need anyone _taking care of me,_ ” I dribbled. “No more. You saw. You saw what I did… to that man. You’d have done worse. If it were you… _Tommy would’ve—_ ” I trailed off. It didn’t need saying what Tommy would’ve done. 

Michael turned in the doorway to leave. “Get some rest, Bell.”

.+.

I sat down on the hard, wooden pew and stared forward. 

“Pol.” 

“Anabel.” My Aunt, whose pious hands worked over a rosary, shot me a sideways glance. “You’d better cross yourself in the house of Our Lord.” 

I dragged my hand down my face and across my chest with about as much splendor as an eight-year old boy washes his body with soap. My constitution wouldn’t allow me to fear God, only humor him. 

“You wanted to speak to me,” I said. 

Polly closed her eyes and hummed. The edge of her thin lips curled up like a burnt leaf. “Heard about your little _display_ at The Brown Dog last night.”

I breathed out through my nose. 

“Don’t you worry. I didn’t hear from Michael. Turns out, the man you obliterated is head of the Birmingham Communist Party Union.” Polly still hadn’t opened her eyes. Her fingers rhythmically rubbed the smooth beads of her rosary, one by one. “He’s been planning a strike on the city’s automobile manufacturers, but we’d managed to incentivize him into leaving out the Shelby factories. Guess who’s changed their tune now?”

I cleared my throat. The light flooding in through the cathedral’s stained glass windows was surprisingly warm. “And?” 

Polly stilled in the corner of my eye. She turned in my direction and I made the mistake of glancing into her wide open eyes. “Don’t make me slap you in this holy place,” she said.

“What do you want me to say?” 

“I want you to say that this little teenage rebellion is at its end. I want you to say you’ll put aside your ego and apologize for the good of the business.” 

An unpleasant chill crept down my back and I stood up quickly to escape the feeling. “I’m not apologizing to an ugly fuck who smells of piss!”

Polly was faster than I gave her credit for. The harsh _crack_ of her hand meeting my cheek was resounding off of the high ceilings before I even saw her stand up. My face burned and I was glad no one else was in St. Andrews’ that morning. 

Polly didn’t look away. She didn’t even flinch. “You’re not Bell. You’re not the girl I raised. I don’t know where she’s gone, but I pray to God every day she comes back!” 

I was already halfway down the atrium, foolish tears threatening to fall as I threw open the doors to the church. 

.+.

Ada didn’t pull any punches either. “You’re a cliché, you know that?” 

I was sat at her kitchen table, bouncing Karl on one knee and cracking peas into a bowl. My response was light, for the sake of the baby. “And you, Ada, belong in an institution.” 

She scoffed, shook her head, smiled in a way that said _I know exactly what you’re trying to do, but I’m too smart for you._

I stared down at my bowl of peas because I couldn’t stand her face. “I’m not in the mood for another lecture, Ada. I’m really, _really_ not.” 

“I wasn’t going to lecture you,” she said. “No. The thing is, _I’m curious_. What does it feel like?” 

“What does what feel like?” I snatched Karl’s hand away from the bowl he was itching to knock over.

“Does it feel _good_ to beat a man?”

The air in the kitchen stilled. I glanced up at my sister. She sat there, prim and proper, with intent eyes. I couldn’t tell whether she was being serious or not and my not knowing killed me. Because I knew if I said ‘yes,’ I’d be a monster. Even in my own eyes. And if I said ‘no,’ I’d be a liar. 

“Imagine there’s a raccoon living in your house,” I said. 

She shook her head. “Don’t need to imagine. We’ve named him Burglar. He’s a right menace, always banging around in the can and waking up Karl in the middle of the night. Don’t know how he gets in.” 

I couldn’t help but laugh. Karl giggled and squirmed in response. “Yes, Burglar. He’s very annoying, isn’t he? Have you ever gone after him?” 

Ada sucked her teeth. “I’ve tried, with a broom, but… He’s too quick.” 

I paused—waited for the space of a breath—then said: 

“Men are like that. They sneak in and fuck around. Break shit. Go through your trash. Wake up your baby. And you don’t know how they get in, but they do. Getting rid of them is harder than hell, because they’re quick. Too quick for your broom. Can’t pick them up with your hands, cause if they bite ya, they’ll give ya rabies.” 

Ada nodded solemnly. 

“So imagine one day, you just up and decide Burglar isn’t going to be burglaring no more. And when you see him, rooting around in your garbage, you just take your foot and you kick him with all your might. Kick him like a pigskin in the yard. Imagine what that feels like. To finally get him, without him getting you.” 

“ _Hmm._ ” Ada averted her eyes. For several moments, the only sounds in the kitchen were my peas hitting their bowl and Karl’s lips smacking. Then Ada said, “Makes sense.”

As I stroked the hair from Karl’s forehead, I replied: “Doesn’t it?” 

.+.

“Aye! There she is!” Arthur stood up clumsily from his seat by the bar. “ _Bloody Bellflower_ , they’re calling you!” 

I sighed. “I’ve heard enough about the other night. Any one of you boys gets drunk and batters a man to bits, we hear nothing of it.” 

John held up his beer. “Come off it. You’re a Blinder, sis. Arthur’s just paying his respects.” 

I sidled up to the bar and swiped a bottle of gin from the other side. “Not a fucking Blinder any more than Ada’s a fucking Blinder.” 

In my peripheral vision, I saw John raise his eyebrows. 

Arthur’s hand clapped down on my back. “We won’t mention _the incident_ , since it makes you so uncomfortable, eh?”

I swallowed a swig of gin, straight. “Thanks.”

.+.

No one need mention _the incident_ for me to be reminded of it. There, behind their eyes, they knew what I’d done. Random passersby on the street stared at me like I was a puzzle they couldn’t quite piece together. A youthful girl _and_ a brutalizer. Not a Shelby like Ada, or even like Polly, but a Shelby like John. Like Arthur. Like Tommy. They stepped aside for me. They made _way_. 

This satisfied me. Deeply. I hadn’t been satisfied for some time. At least seven months. 

I heard someone call my name from a distance. “ _Ana!_ ” Watery Lane was long. Sometimes, it seemed impossibly long. Like a hallway with no end, only more and more doors. 

“Ana!” The calling was closer now. 

I turned just in time to catch Finn in my arms. The boy was panting, half-limp where I held him. His desperate fatigue made me stop breathing. 

“What is it?” I asked.

“ _Tommy—_ ” he said. 

I clutched him tighter. “Tommy, what?” 

“ _Tommy—_ he’s back. He’s back!” Finn cried. 

Cease everything. My mind switched off, but not in the way it had these past few months. In a good way. In a way that meant I wasn’t ashamed to join my younger brother in an all-out sprint for home. My feet wild beneath me, kicking up mud, propelling me past house after house. My spirit _free_ and _joyous_ and unabashedly so. 

Fuck. 

I love my brother. 

.+.

Everyone was already there. The den was full of smoke and the tangy smell of whiskey. I pushed past John’s lumbering form and there he was. Sitting in his chair, smoking a cigarette, as though he’d never left. Before I even caught his eye, Finn pushed past me and launched himself into Tommy’s lap. 

Thomas rubbed a hand over Finn’s scalp and smiled. His skin was leatherier. He must’ve been in the sun a lot. I took note of him while he wasn’t paying attention. His movements were slower and his smile more genuine. His suit was more expensive and he had more freckles, but he’d lost some weight in his face. What had he eaten in Africa? Had he burned, I wondered?

Until I realized I wasn’t observing unobserved. He was looking at me, too. He was doing the same thing I was—he was taking me in—and our similarity struck me right in the chest like an iron hammer. Anger hit right after and nearly knocked the breath out of me. _Oh,_ I thought, _I am angry at you for leaving_ , and ferocious tears started to well. He noticed them at the same time I did. 

“I need you all to leave us,” Tommy said, patting Finn’s side.

Everyone looked at me. Ada. Pol. John. Michael. Arthur. Finn. They all looked at me like they knew exactly what I was in for and they were sorry, but I’d managed it all on my own. 

“Set her straight, will you?” Polly drawled, on her way out. 

Arthur and John lingered by the door. 

“Welcome home fest at The Garrison,” John called. His eyes flickered to mine, but didn’t linger. “See you there.”

“Glad you’re back,” Arthur said, his voice gruff with unshed tears, before he shuffled after John. 

One by one, they left, until it was just him and I.

Thomas stood. His body appeared longer, as though someone had put him in a stretching machine and pulled his limbs like taffy. He seemed to unfold, higher and higher, until—even from across the room—he was towering over me. 

“Come here,” he said, holding his arms out. 

“I don’t think I will,” I said. Plainly. Simply. Without any of the malice which bubbled and burned its way through my gut. “I don’t think I can.” 

He let his arms lower. “Haven’t you missed me?” He took a step forward. “I missed you.” 

“Did you?” I asked, stepping over to stand by the windows, where I wouldn’t have to face him directly. “In your seven months in Africa? On your business trip? _Well._ I’m so glad you found time to think of me, considering you couldn’t find time to write.” 

“I was being monitored. Everything I did, everywhere I went. I couldn’t risk—”

A curse left my lips. “You’re _Thomas Shelby_ , for fucks’ sake. I don’t want to hear excuses from you.” 

His laughter rolled over the ensuing silence. 

“You think I’m being funny, do you?” 

“No, you’re just being Ana.” Thomas sighed. “I really did miss you.” 

Just then, his arms wrapped around me from behind. I started. I hadn’t heard him move closer. 

“ _Don’t._ ” But I might as well have said nothing, for all the good it did. 

“ _Sweetest Anabel, like the roses in June, I hope she’ll smile soon. My sweetest, sweetest Anabel._ ” He sang under his breath, into the skin beneath my ear. It was the song he’d sung to me as a child, whenever I got hurt playing in the street with Finn, or pissed off Polly enough to be put on punishment. He rocked the both of us, to and fro, until I unclenched. 

“I’m not your sweet little girl anymore,” I said. 

“So I heard. What are you now, _hmm_?”

“A ‘bloody menace,’ according to Michael. I don’t think Polly or Ada know what to call me. Arthur and John are ready for me to slap on a cap and called myself a Blinder.” 

“Over my body.” 

“The saying is, ‘Over my dead body.’”

“Yeah, I know. Except no one’s killing me, love.” 

_Fuck him_ for making me smile. “Will you leave again?” I asked. 

“Do you want me to lie?” 

“No.” 

“Yes. But not for a while yet.”

We stayed like that for a long time. Swaying, back and forth. Until the light outside turned brassy and blood-tinged and the night-crawlers—still hungover from yesterday—began to wake up and stumble onto the streets. 

“Shall we join the others?” Thomas asked. I could tell the choice really was up to me. 

“Am I not to be scolded for my behavior?” 

Thomas brushed a bit of hair from my face and released me. He held out his hand. “No need. You won’t be acting out again, will you? I’m here now.” 

I took hold of him and squeezed tight. “Let’s go then.”


	2. Dreams

We walked with a measure of space between us—a channel for the cool night air, flavored with petrol, to blow through.

“You’ll need a better coat. Birmingham ain’t the bush.”

Tommy glanced down at his black suit jacket, constructed from thin tweed, and said: “’Spose I will.”

“You missed home.” Wasn’t a question.

“You know I did.”

“Someone was watching you, you said? That’s why you couldn’t write?”

He steered us both around a mud-filled depression, in which, a drunkard had already taken his early rest.

“Had business, Ana.”

“Shite, that is.” I shook off his lingering hand. “A load of—”

Tommy stopped walking. My words followed suit, of their own accord. Looking back at his pale face in the blue-black light of evening, the angular planes were severe.

“Go on,” he said, calmly.

Tommy wasn’t trying to be intimidating. He didn’t need to try.

“Oh, I’m not to curse around you, is that it? _Big brother has notions about this young lady’s vocabulary?_ ” I mocked him. “Well, I ain’t no lady, Tom. And you been gone–”

“I’ve been gone a long time.” His crystalline eyes took on a distant look. His head bobbed, idly. “That I have, Bellflower. That I have. I’ll forgive you forgetting how this works.”

He slipped his hand from the pocket of his suit jacket and splayed one spindly finger toward me.

“You.”

He redirected his appendage toward himself.

“Me.”

A twitchy, nervousness had me picking at my nails all of a sudden. “What about us?”

As he gestured to the space between our bodies, his eyes pulled back into focus. He was scanning my face now. The crease between my eyebrows. Presumably, my nose and ears, red from the cold. My lips. “Respect.”

“You know I respect you, Tommy.”

“And I respect you, Ana.” He waited a moment for the sentiment to sink in. “But do you respect my business? I am a business _man_ , after all. Do you respect what I must do to take care of you, and Finn, and John, and Ada, and Arthur, and Polly, and Michael? Do you respect the business which I cannot, without great risk to your personal safety, tell you about? Or, do you assume the worst of me when left to your own imagination?”

I closed my eyes. There was no response which would not bely my age and my rage.

“I am still angry,” I said, giving myself over to the feeling.

“Rightfully so, love.” His thumb, even colder than the air, brushed against my cheek. “But I’m here now. I haven’t abandoned you, nor could I. I am still yours.”

I twined my fingers in his frigid ones and opened my eyes. “I’ve changed, Thomas. I meant what I said about not being your little girl anymore.”

Tommy used my hand to pull me into his side, then resumed walking with me attached to him.

“Silly,” he said, pressing his lips into my scalp.

.+.

“Aye! _My brother!_ ” Arthur yelled, lifting his glass jug of malt whiskey. “To the king’s return!”

Several nearby bar-goers cheered him and threw back their drinks with fervor.

I stood by the entrance, peeling off my coat to hang on the maple rack. Ada waved from the back corner, where most of the women congregated. The Garrison was warm with packed bodies and mirth. The ground, already wet with spilled liquor, was littered with salted peanuts.

Finn ran by, his hair a mess, chased by Jeremiah ‘Jimmy’ Jesus’ third and youngest son.

I meant to venture off when Tommy caught me by the nape of my neck.

“Eh!” The room went quiet. A barmaid pushed a glass tumbler into his outstretched hand. “Nothing like being back home.”

“Aye!” “No truer words.” “Good man!”

“Shelby clan! Peakies! In ‘ere!”

He hauled me into the side room, releasing his grip to pop open the latch door to the bar.

“Fenton. We’ll have Irish, all night. Don’t stop ‘til morning or I’ll cut you.”

He shut the small door just as John came in carrying a young woman in little more than sheer silk.

“Nope,” Tommy said.

“Come on, Tom. We’re celebrating!” John protested.

“Family and peakies only.”

John pouted down at the girl. “Sorry, love.” Then dropped her, unceremoniously, onto her feet. She huffed and pushed him on her way out of the door. “ _Bitch_ ,” John muttered, grinning. No doubt he’d find the same girl later and…

“Why are you standing in the doorway, John? Goodness.” Ada shouldered her way past him, followed by Polly and Lizzie.

“Mind your manners, sis.”

“And you mind your blind meat, good sir, before you end up with another little one.” Polly gave him a scathing once over before taking her seat.

Lizzie laughed. A tinkering sound.

“What are you laughing at, Liz?” John sneered. “You haven’t been particularly careful with your—”

“John Shelby, you shut your mouth right now.”

“Aunt Pol, I was just—”

“ _Right now._ ”

Finn broke the tense atmosphere when he sprinted in yelling, “Hide me!”

“From—?” I asked just as he tried diving underneath Polly’s dress skirt. She laughed raucously, shooed him.

Jeremiah’s son waltzed in, a pleased expression on his handsome face. “I found you.”

“Aw, man.”

“You used to be this innocent once. Can you believe that?” Polly asked, staring at John, who merely smiled.

“Take your games out there,” Tommy told Finn.

There was a knock on the small door. Tommy opened the latch and accepted the pitcher of Irish.

“Seven cups,” he said to the barmaid on the other side.

Michael walked in as Finn ran out.

“Arthur’s on a table,” he said, slumping into one of the wooden chairs.

“Tell him to get down and come in here.”

“I don’t need to tell him anything. He’s coming.” Michael met my eye. His gaze seemed to ask: _You alright?_ I sent him a hand signal down by the folds of my dress which meant: _Just fine._

“Wait,” I said, turning my attention to Tommy. I put up seven fingers. “Me, you, Arthur, John, Ada, Michael, Polly, and Lizzie. That’s eight. We need one more cup.”

“Michael, go fetch Arthur. If we wait for him, we’ll be here till Christmas.”

Michael rose reluctantly from his chair and lumbered out of the door.

“Excuse me?” I leaned past Tommy to speak directly through the opening. “Miss? We’ll need another cup.”

“No. We won’t.” He shut the door.

“Tommy.”

“Anabel.”

“I’m sixteen fucking years old!”

“Here we go,” Polly groaned. “I told you she was going to be like this.”

“Come on, Tom. Let the girl have one drink, at least. We are celebrating,” Ada said. “Abstinence can surely begin tomorrow.”

“This isn’t up for debate,” Tommy said, not deigning to meet my eye.

“John was drinking at fourteen,” I said, ignoring him.

“John went to war.”

“I’m not staying, then.” I knocked my way towards the door.

“ _Ana!_ ” Arthur bellowed, drunk as a skunk. He wrangled his arm around my neck and pulled me back into the room.

“Let go, you dumb fu—!”

“ _Shhhhhhhhhh_ ,” Arthur droned. “Don’t be so angry. We’ve all had to apologize once or mice. Once or— _Twice_.”

“What?” I said.

“Arthur.” Tommy’s voice was grave.

“Michael, grab him.” Polly waved her hand and her son plied Arthur’s hold from around my shoulders.

“What is he talking about?” I asked.

Tommy poured himself a whiskey and sighed. “Anyone else want a drink?”

“ _Jesus Christ._ That’s the last time you’re going to ignore my question, Thomas Shelby.”

“And that’s the last time you’re going to take the Lord’s name in vain in my presence,” Polly added.

“I want an answer.”

Tommy swallowed his drink. “You’re going to apologize to a Mister Gingrich. That’s what I need you to do, so that’s what you’re going to do.”

“No!” I screamed. “No. I won’t.”

“Ana,” Michael warned.

“ _No_.” I shook my head, backing away from them. “You’ve all done worse. All of you.”

“This is for the family. For the family, you do what’s required, sis.” John was looking up through his eyelashes, a pitiful remorse on his unseasonably tanned face.

“No one doubts the old bastard had another one coming,” Arthur slurred.

“But we can’t afford a strike on our factories right now. Simply not feasible,” Polly said, assuming the air of the Shelby Company Ltd. Financial Manager.

“Ada?” I asked.

My sister shrugged.

“Fuck the lot of you,” I said, turning on my heels and taking off as quick as Finn might’ve.

I heard Thomas calling my name. “Ana!”

But I didn’t stop.

.+.

“I’ll go,” Michael said, plucking his coat from the back of his chair.

“Let her sulk,” Polly said. “The girl needs a deflating.”

“You know where she’ll be?” Tommy asked.

“I’ve been taking care of her the last seven months,” Michael said, almost bitterly. “I’ll find her.”

“Say nothing about the true nature of the plan. Best she remains in the dark.”

“You underestimate her.” Michael pulled up his coat collar and exited without another word.

Tommy met Polly’s gaze.

“He’s fond of her. They have a _bond_ ,” she said, fingering a loose curl.

The muscle in his jaw went to work as he poured himself another whiskey. He could remember when he’d been on the other end of the same bond. Soon enough, he would be again. Michael could still be useful, though. She trusted him.

“Twenty pounds says Little Flower’s at another bar slamming G&T’s just to spite Tom.” John laughed at his own bet.

“That’s not funny,” Ada said.

“Your haircut is.”

“Loser.”

“Whore.”

“Enough,” said Polly. “Your sister needs to be dealt with.”

“Tom’s here now,” Arthur drawled. “Problem solved.”

“You men don’t know one blade of grass in a field of wheat’s worth about teenage girls. Thomas being here is bound to exacerbate the rebellion we’ve already seen, as evidenced tonight.”

“Pol’s right,” Ada said. “Anabel has a violent streak worse than any of you idiots. She could hurt someone—or herself—someday.”

“Want my advice, the girl needs to be married.” Polly pulled a long, ruby-dark cigarette from her silver case and tapped the cylinder against the table. “Give her a husband and a home to take care of, she won’t have much time to cause trouble.”

“No one’s marrying our Anabel,” Tommy said.

“I agree. She’s too young for all that,” said Ada. “I missed out on being a girl. She shouldn’t as well.”

Tommy allowed the misunderstanding to stand. He’d meant: _No one is_ ever _marrying our Anabel._

The next few hours passed in a haze of cigarette smoke and Irish whisky and Lizzie drawing letters on the thin skin of his arm. Tommy leaned his head back against the booth and thought of Ana. She’d gained inches, put on pounds, grown out her hair—but she was still the same as when he’d left. Even the anger was familiar to him. Only, she’d been better at keeping it hidden before.

He would bring her back into the fold. Channel her discontent into something useful. Cultivate her love until he could feel its warmth again. He would not lose his sister to seething bitterness or distance.

He would not lose her, at all.

.+.

I heard Michael before I saw him. Tucked away in the dusty rafters of the abandoned St. Luke’s cathedral, his footsteps echoed mightily around the space. A ragged hole in the ceiling streamed moonlight onto the top of the ladder from which he emerged, his hair slicked back, his collar upturned against the chilly air.

“You got any paradise?” I asked.

Michael scoffed. “You’re trying to get me killed.”

“If Tommy kills you for snow, I’ll kill him for poppy tears.”

“Then only you would be left alive.”

“Exactly.”

Michael settled down next to my makeshift cot—moth-eaten blankets and newspapers and old straw.

“Be happy with your drink,” he said, gesturing to my half-empty bottle of spiced rum.

“Come on.” I dragged my hand down his arm. “Do you have some or not?”

He struggled for an instant before succumbing. Out from the pocket of his coat, he pulled a small blue tube, uncorked the bottle, held the stuff beneath my nose. I plugged my other nostril and inhaled the divine substance.

“Fuck,” I breathed as the rush reached my brain. My eyes had rolled. I didn’t see Michael take his hit, but I heard him _sniff_. “That’s good.”

“Don’t tell.”

“Come. Lay here.” I dragged him down onto my cot and we laid, side-by-side, staring up at the stars through a hole in the ceiling.

“It won’t be that bad—” he began.

“Shut up.”

“You’ll just say a few words you don’t mean—”

“Shut up.”

He turned his head to look at my profile. “You can’t keep acting like you answer to no one. Tommy is ba—”

I brought my head to the side and our lips met. Michael drew back immediately. He said nothing. Merely stared.

“Don’t say anything,” I said, holding his gaze. In the dark, with alcohol swimming in my blood and paradise on my brain, he was a warm body.

Michael came back with a vengeance. I hadn’t realized he’d been holding himself back. All at once, his lips returned to mine and he was kissing me. _Truly_ kissing me.

My cousin. Michael.

He felt strange. Wrong, of course.

“Michael… Michael—stop.” I pushed at him.

Once he relented, he hung his head between us and breathed harshly.

“What—what have I done?” he said, quickly sitting up.

“Nothing a thousand haven’t done before. _Kissing cousins_ and all that.” I hoped to make him feel better.

“We should go. The rest will be wondering where you are.”

“I can’t,” I said. “I’m no good. Can’t even walk, I’d presume.”

“Well, _try_.”

“I see no reason to.”

“Ana.”

“Michael. Let’s just sit here until I can feel my legs again. Then, we’ll go. Okay?”

He sighed. Gave me a wary look, like I might try to kiss him again. “Fine.”

.+.

I wouldn’t allow him to put me to bed; not only because of our earlier indiscretion, but also because I felt his presence unnecessary. The sun would be up in a handful of hours and the night had drained most of my inebriated high into somnolence.

“Go home. Polly will be waiting. You know she can’t sleep unless—”

“Yes, I know,” he said, chafing at his mother’s love. “You’ll meet with Mister Gingrich tomorrow.”

“Yes. _I know_.”

“Be good.”

“Fuck off.”

I carried myself up the staircase. Slipped off my own dress, leaving the shift. Kicked off my own shoes, leaving the socks. Stoked my own coals in the blackened fireplace. Turned down my own bed. And, just as I went to close my own eyes, I heard a sound.

A sound I hadn’t heard in… Seven months.

A hurt, childish sound. Not like a baby, but like a wounded boy.

Thomas.

Ghostlike, I rose out of my bed and into the dark hallway. Finn wouldn’t wake. He always slept through Tommy’s night terrors.

I paused outside the door to his bedroom. Was I wrong for feeling comfort at the sound of his distress? Was I abhorrent for enjoying the fact he would be present in the room which had remained empty for so long? Before I could condemn myself further, I went inside.

His own fire blazed heartily in its hearth, baking the air dry and crackling steadily. Tommy lay uncovered, sweating profusely, his head tossing back and forth. I scurried to the window and pried the sheet of glass as many inches from the sill as I could manage. Then, wasting no time, knelt beside his bed.

“Thomas. Thomas, wake up.” I spoke forcefully, knowing well I could not touch him until he’d regained full consciousness.

He ceased making the terrible sounds, but did not open his eyes.

“It’s your sister. Your sister who loves you. Ana. _Wake up, Tom._ ”

“Ana,” he croaked.

“Yes. Yes, it’s me. Open those eyes of yours,” I demanded.

He obeyed. His frigid icicle eyes looked strange in the firelight. “Ana.” By the sound of his voice, I knew he was awake.

“See? I’m here,” I said. “Which means you’re home.”

He sat up in bed and looked around. Sighed deeply. “Damn.”

“Africa didn’t cure the nightmares?”

“I’d hoped she had, but… They’re back.”

I stood up. “You’re all wet. Take off your shirt. I’ll fetch new sheets.”

When I returned from the hallway, the damp sheets were in a pile on the floor and he stood by the window, bare chested, smoking a cigarette.

“You must be mad if you think I’m dressing your bed. I’m your sister. Not a maid.” I dropped the clean sheets onto the mattress. I was itching to simply stretch them out, but the precedent set would be a bad one. “Go on,” I said, crossing my arms.

“I’ll sleep on the mattress,” he said, not bothering to glance back. “Doesn’t matter to me.”

“Tommy.”

“Why ruin a second set of sheets, love? I’ll be just fine.”

“Well, I won’t.” With a huff, I set about stretching the sheets and tucking in the corners.

He turned to look at me over his shoulder, a single eyebrow raised. “You’re staying?”

“If I leave, I’ll only be woken in another hour by your groaning.”

He wouldn’t have another terror if I slept beside him.

“I thought you weren’t my little girl anymore?”

“I’m not,” I said, fluffing the pillows.

A startled scream was forced out of my lungs when he wrapped his arms around my waist and lifted my body into the air. With no small amount of force, he threw us both down onto the bed.

“I would beg to _differ_!” he said, tickling the sensitive spot beneath my ribs.

“Tommy! Thomas Shelby, you _stop_. Stop!” I squealed, half-laughing half-crying.

I sent my elbow into his stomach and he relented; at which point, I used my weight to knock him onto his back.

“You _ungrateful swine_ ,” I said, placing my knee on top of his chest and pressing down. “Tickling me against my will. I ought to kill you.”

“Go on, love. Do away with me.” He dropped his arms by his side. The look in his eyes was much too serious for horse play.

Taking my knee off of his chest, I plopped myself beside him on the bed.

“You _do_ deserve a thrashing, but not for the tickling,” I said. “For making me apologize to that man.”

Tommy grunted. “Has to be done.”

“Oh, I’m sure.”

“Heard he lost two teeth and shat blood for three days.”

“Got off easy in my book.” I turned my head to find him staring. “He thought me weak and common, I know he did. He thought to get his rocks off with a girl almost thirty years his junior and he thought to hit me when that wasn’t the case. Lord knows he won’t be chatting to any girl who looks like me, that’s for sure.”

Tommy said nothing.

“And I don’t care if you’re disappointed with me. You weren’t there.”

His eyes cut sharply to my face.

“You _weren’t_ ,” I insisted.

“As you keep reminding me.” He turned over onto his side. “You act as if I didn’t miss you, too.”

“Not as much as I missed you.” I turned over onto my side as well.

“So competitive.”

“No, just always right.” I sighed as I tucked my hands beneath my cheeks. “Was Africa very much fun?”

“Morocco was. The food was rich. The people beautiful. The business opportunities—endless.”

“Did the women dress as they do here or more…?”

At my wiggling of my bare shoulder, Tommy chuckled.

“The women dressed like it was hot. Which it was.”

“Would you ever take _me_ to Morocco?”

“There are many other places we could go first.”

“Like where?”

“I’m buying a new home. Outside of Birmingham. In the country.”

“ _In the country?_ ” My eyes went wide. The country was my dream.

“Somewhere for the family to go. Away from Small Heath. Safe and sprawling. Where we can ride and race and _hide_ , if need be.”

“Hide?” I asked. The rest sounded fantastic. “From whom?”

“No one. No one you need worry about.”

I hummed. I would find out sooner or later.

“I should see this house before you buy it.”

“Why? Are you signing the note?”

“No.”

“Are you an expert in appraisal?”

“No.”

“Interior decorating? Architecture?”

“ _No_ and _no_. But I am an expert in Thomas Shelby—what makes him comfortable, what makes him uncomfortable, where he can and cannot be happy, etcetera.”

“We’ll go then. I’ll take you.”

“When?”

“Soon.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow you have your appointment with Mister Gingrich.”

I moaned, flipping onto my back. Thomas drew his pointer finger down my forehead and along the bridge of my nose.

“Power through. I have another surprise for you tomorrow.”

“Wh—?”

“Do you know the definition of a surprise?”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Go to sleep then.”

“I will,” I said, flipping over once more. “Don’t even think of—”

Thomas placed his arm across my body. “Shut up, love. _Sleep._ ”

And, like he had the power of providence, I did sleep. I was not awoken by anymore sounds of distress. His terrors, as I’d assumed, kept away.

.+.

Willful. Secretly kind. Not foolish, but not particularly perceptive either. She was still young yet and still thought the best of him. Evidence to the contrary would not suffice.

Which is why he’d known she would come. Beckoned at the sound of his voice. Dreams or no dreams, he need only call out for help and… She would come.

Tommy didn’t consider himself to be much good at acting, but he knew how to lie. In the end, there wasn’t much of a difference, was there?

Watching her nostrils flare with every exhale and feeling the warmth of her skin was his main objective. He’d gone too long without proof of life. Africa was lonelier than he would ever admit and this was what he’d thought of during the nights he could not sleep. Ana. Her laugh. Her breath. Her warmth.

They were caught between the chill flooding through the open window and the waning heat of the fire. Thomas reached down and brought the sheets up over them.

Tomorrow would be hard. She’d need all the sleep she could get.


	3. First Times

No small part of me wanted to jump out of the carriage and into the wet brush. Run. Leave. Never come back.

“Don’t even think about it, love.”

I tore my eyes from the window and wrapped my arms around my upset stomach. “What are you on about?”

Tommy sucked his teeth. “In and out. You’ll apologize to the gentleman—”

“Ugly fucking bastard.”

“—and we’ll be on our way.”

“Off to the surprise?”

“If you’re still feeling up to it.”

Tommy’s secret _something_ was the only reason I hadn’t put up more of a fight at Watery Lane.

“Where are we going?” We’d just passed the courthouse and were nearing the edge of Small Heath.

“Mister Gingrich is a popular man who would rather keep his exact whereabouts private.”

“Communist fuck.”

“ _Hmm_ ,” Tommy agreed. 

“When’s the strike supposed to happen?”

“Friday.”

It was Wednesday. I couldn’t recall what the man’s face looked like, but I remembered his smell. His voice when he called me _girl_.

“Alright, then.”

.+.

The driver parked outside of a warehouse. The gray, rusted-brown, shingled metal exterior was falling apart.

“Where’s Michael and the rest?”

“They’ll meet us inside.” Tommy straightened the cuffs of his coat. “Let’s go.”

He pried open the steel door and ushered me inside with a single hand on the small of my back. There, standing in the wide open space, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, was the man. He stared, his brows furrowed.

My breath was coming fast now, like a racehorse on the block. Tommy squeezed my shoulder.

“Deep breaths, love.”

Scrunching my face, I shook his hand off. “Not scared. Angry.” 

“I know.”

We walked forward until I could see the dirt on Gingrich’s shoes and the pebbled redness on his neck.

“Mr. Shelby.” His voice was the same, only tinged with begrudging respect. _What’s your name, girl?_

“Fred.” Tommy kept his voice low; informal. He took out a cigarette and lit the end like we weren’t waiting for his go ahead. When he’d taken his first drag, he waved a hand toward me. “My sister, Ana. You’ve met.”

Fred Gingrich was like a man on fire. The sight of me had set him ablaze. He might’ve even been shaking.

“Mister—” I went to say.

“Anabel _fucking_ Shelby.” He snorted. “How could I forget?”

There was the look of violence. The blackened look. I ducked my head to keep from smiling. “Yes, sir.”

“I see you in my dreams sometimes.”

My head whipped back up to meet his eye. “Oh?”

“Your eyes are different and you… You kill me,” he said.

“ _Oh._ ” Right then.

Tommy’s laugh cut through the atmosphere. “Anabel would never, would you?” He wrapped his arm over my shoulders. “She doesn’t have it in her. And besides—she’s here to offer an apology.”

I bit my lip.

Tommy shook me gently. “Go on.”

He was testing me. Could I be humble? Could I submit myself to a small humiliation for a larger good?

“Mister Gingrich, sir. I would like to… I’m very _sorry_ for how rough I was with you.” I kept my gaze on his hands, which he’d balled into fists. “I was incredibly _drunk_ and distraught by the absence of my _dear_ brother.”

A glance at Tommy revealed a flash of guilt and then a look which said, _Get on with it._

“I hope I haven’t caused you any lasting physical pain,” I said.

Tommy nodded and took his arm away. “Good. Well, that settles that?”

Gingrich nodded. He looked like he couldn’t speak even if he’d wanted to.

“Right.” Tommy snapped his fingers.

From the three corners which we had not used to enter, Arthur, John, and Michael emerged. All three held guns, poised low. Gingrich spun and, at the sight of their weapons, tried to run. Tommy hooked him with his arm and wrangled the thick man into submission.

I watched, perplexed. “What’s going on?”

“Let go! Let go of me, Shelby!” Gingrich yelled.

“The Communist Party Union needs new leadership,” Thomas seethed into his ear. “Michael!”

Our cousin moved in closer. “Yes?”

“Give the gun to Ana.”

Michael hesitated. “This wasn’t part of the—?”

“ _Give her the gun_.”

Michael came over and pressed the gun into my frozen hand. His eyes were communicating something which I could not decipher.

“Tom,” Arthur pressed.

“What was it Ada said yesterday?” Tommy asked, glancing around at each of them.

“Help! _HELP!_ ” Gingrich yelled, only stopping when Tommy pressed harder on his windpipe.

“She said _Anabel has a violent streak worse than any of us idiots. She could hurt someone one day. Or herself._ ” Tommy caught my eye. “Well, let’s see. Aim, Ana.”

“Tommy.” My voice was thick with fear. “Stop.”

“I said _aim_.” His voice left no room for disagreement. “I taught you how to shoot. Show me you remember.”

Spacing my legs shoulder width apart, I brought the gun up with both hands. One hand cupped the butt, while the other held the trigger. My hands were shaking, terribly.

“You have him in your sights?”

Gingrich was blubbering now. A wet stain spread down his pants’ leg.

“Yes.” But I could barely see through the sudden tears filling my eyes.

“Listen to me, Ana. Listen close. I want you to pull the trigger.”

“Tommy, I can’t.”

“Yes. You can. _Now._ ”

My breath was coming in spurts. “I— _I can’t_.”

“Come on, Bellflower!”

“Tommy, stop this!” Michael yelled.

“Kill him.”

“ _NO!_ ”

I threw the gun away. Any bravado which might’ve been present before was gone now. I was a shell. Fuck. I couldn’t _breathe_.

“Take her outside.”

I heard his voice from far away and felt hands pulling my body. Michael. It wasn’t until we were outside and the wet morning air enveloped us I began breathing again. Raucous sobs racked me.

“It’s alright. You’re alright,” Michael said. “You haven’t done anything.”

I sank down onto the ground and curled my limbs into a tight ball.

“ _Fuck._ ” Michael sighed.

.+.

I was a joke. A fool. An idiot. A pansy. The furthest thing from a Peaky Blinder anyone could be and Tommy had known. He’d known all along.

“ _Ah,_ Anabel. It’s done now,” he said, crouching above my collapsed body.

“I couldn’t do it,” I said. “I just—I just couldn’t do it.”

The tears returned, harsher than before; more unforgiving. My inability was an unattractive deficiency. But then Tommy said:

“Atta girl.”

He leaned over and picked me up in his arms. Carried me to the car as I cried and cried and cried.

“Atta girl.”

.+.

Lying on his lap in the backseat of the carriage, his hand in my hair was my only reality. I’d ceased crying, but still felt hollowed out, like a scarecrow.

“Would you still like your surprise?” Tommy asked.

“Another one?” I croaked.

“I think you’ll enjoy this one.”

“Let’s have it then.”

He signaled to the driver and we were off.

Knowing Mister Gingrich was dead brought no comfort, as I’d once thought it would. Tommy had succeeded in thoroughly ruining me; more than any forced apology ever could have. _You’re not like me_ , he’d conveyed. _You cannot do what I do_.

Took almost an hour to reach the next destination.

“We’re here,” he said.

“Where is _here_?” I asked, sitting up to peer out of the window.

“The Boxing Club.”

“The Boxing—?”

Tommy pushed open his door and grabbed my hand. “Come.”

.+.

The dusty interior was warm at least. Agile, bare male bodies performed exercises in every corner. They jumped rope, they ducked and weaved, they bat at speed bags and laid into punching bags. All but one of the three rings was empty. The last held two young men—their knuckles wrapped with tape—practicing a fight at half-speed. An older gentleman with salt-and-pepper hair watched with his arms crossed.

“Lucky,” Tommy greeted.

The man grunted. “One second.” His Russian accent made the phrase into _Wun zecond._

We stood round, watching the boys beat each other. I knew which one would win within three seconds. The lanky fellow with a streak of grey running through his hair. He was stable _and_ quick. After a minute, he’d sent three left hooks and a roundhouse into the shorter one.

“Alright!” Lucky yelled. “Good work. Have a break. Be ready to go again in five.” He turned to Tommy. “Mr. Shelby. This her?” he asked, pointing at me.

“Anabel Shelby.” I stuck out my hand. “Nice to meet you.”

He appraised me as he shook my hand. “And you. She’s built thick. Sturdy. Plenty of muscle,” he said. “She’ll do well.”

“Excuse me?” I asked, my eyebrows raised.

Tommy smiled. “You’ll train here,” he said.

“In boxing?”

“In boxing. It’ll be good for you.”

“Are you ready to work hard?” Lucky asked.

I swallowed. There was only one answer which his wizened face would accept.

“Yes, sir.”

.+.

I trained three days a week. Two hour sessions each. Lucky would work me hard the first hour—fifteen minutes of jumping rope, then pull-ups, lunges, crunches, jumping jacks—before zeroing in on my technique during the second hour.

“You’re hitting too high. Bring your fist down lower,” he would say, pointing to a spot on the punching bag.

“Rotate that wrist. Don’t make me tell you again.”

“Turn out your foot.”

“Bend your knees.”

“Again.”

“Again!”

Weeks went by without one smidgen of praise. The other men treated me like a Shelby, which meant they steered clear. All except one.

“Eton, look here!” I tossed the medicine ball without waiting for confirmation he’d heard me. He spun and caught the thing. Didn’t even flinch. “ _Aw, man_.”

“You trying to injure me so you don’t have to lose against me in your practice match today?” he asked, smiling with his sharp teeth.

“Today’s the day I win,” I said.

“Sure.”

“I will.”

As he passed by, he sent the medicine ball sailing into my chest. The breath fled my lungs. “Of course.”

Eton was the fellow with the wisdom mark—the one I’d watched win that first day. He was twenty-one; handsome, but he knew as much. Lucky liked to pit us against each other, saying _Eton’s the best. And to be the best, you have to beat the best._

I enjoyed knocking down his confidence whenever I could. Though I’d yet to best him in the ring, he certainly had his other shortcomings.

“Have you heard from Matilda since your _bedding_?” I asked.

“Not yet,” he said, picking up a rope. “But she’ll be back.”

“Are you sure? Are you sure she wasn’t… Disappointed?”

He began jumping. His corded muscles stretched and bunched beneath skin glistening with sweat. Perhaps he _was_ one of those boys with an impressive body who wasn’t carrying anything downstairs…

“I’m sure,” he said, his lungs unaffected by the stress of aerobic exercise.

“How?”

“You really wanna know?” He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye.

Smiling brazenly, I said, “You’re creating too much hype. Might as well go ahead and tell me.”

“She came. Yelling and screaming and everything.”

“She _what?_ ” I asked, laughing a bit.

“ _Came_ ,” he said.

My eyebrows twisted up at the root.

“Oh, no!” His feet tangled in the rope, forcing him to stop. “Don’t tell me—!”

By the overly pleased look on his face I could tell I’d made a grave error.

“You don’t know what that means, do you?”

I shrugged a single shoulder. “So?”

“Youngin’.” He shook his head and laughed. “You will. One day.”

“Fuck that. Tell me what it is.”

“It’s when a woman—or anyone—feels _so good_ , sexually speaking, they cannot control their body’s reaction.”

“Like… A _sneeze_?” I asked.

Eton laughed his fucking head off.

“Fuck you,” I said, leaving him to his jumping.

Suffice to say, I lost the match later.

.+.

After recurring instances of night terrors, I’d forgone sleeping in my own bed at all. Tommy’s warmth was more hospitable, anyway, and even sleeping I felt as though I were doing good work.

“What do you say, love? Come and view the house with me on Sunday?”

My pinky traced a constellation of freckles on his arm. “Sounds good.”

“There are stables on the estate. The current owner says we can take two of their fillies out—they need riding—and explore the land.”

“That’ll be nice.”

“Where’s your head at? I’m talking to me self here.”

I sighed through my nose. “I lost my match today.”

“Better luck next time.”

“I only lost because I was distracted. Because Eton told me something… Something I hadn’t heard before.”

“What’s that?”

“He told me he made a girl _come_. She _came_ when he was having sex with her and… I didn’t know what that meant. I asked him if it was like a sneeze and he—”

Tommy was laughing.

I pulled back, staring at him with indignation. “Yes, just that! He laughed at me!”

As I went to roll off of the bed, he caught me and dragged me back.

“My girl!” he yelled. “Isn’t she cute?”

“I am not a girl. I am a young woman. And if you call me that again, I will _beat_ you.”

“Easy now.” I was on my back and he was leaning over me. “Who is this Eton and why is he telling you these things?”

“He’s my rival and friend and _you_ have evaded the subject, Tommy.”

He stared down at me for a long moment.

“What are you thinking about?” I asked.

“It’s just a feeling,” he answered. “ _Coming_. It’s just a nice feeling.”

“Does every woman come when having sex?”

“No. It’s quite rare, actually.”

 _Huh,_ I thought. _Eton must be very good then._

“Have you ever made a woman come?”

Tommy clenched his jaw. “Yes.”

“Really?”

“Every time but the first time.”

“What happened the first time?”

“I didn’t know what I was doing.”

Moral of the story? Don’t sleep with someone you care about the first time. Noted.

“Are you very good at sex, Tommy?”

I wasn’t sure if I was crossing a line. I didn’t feel as though I was. After all, what knowledge did Tommy contain which was not also mine?

He quickly leaned down and kissed my forehead. “That’s enough of that.”

I balked at being denied. “Are you?”

“Turn around and go to sleep.”

“ _Tommy._ ”

He used his large hands to flip me over, then pulled my back into his chest.

“Don’t try my patience, love. Not tonight.”

“Fine,” I said.

But in my mind I was making _plans_.

.+.

I was in the ring with Eton and knew he was about to best me. _Again_.

He aimed a right hook at my side, which I evaded, but my fatigue sent my arms around his neck. I clung to him, hoping to catch my breath as we grappled.

“I want you to fuck me,” I breathed.

Eton pushed my body back with both fists. His face was a mask of confusion and I sent a jab right into the bridge of his nose. _Unblocked._

“Good!” Lucky yelled.

Eton reeled at the attack, then quickly rebounded. He sent two jabs into my ribcage and another into my cheek.

“Okay. Enough.” Lucky patted the floor of the mat. “Eton takes this match. Excellent footwork and initiative, Anabel. Go stretch.”

Eton stalked off without a word.

.+.

Steam from the men’s showers leaked into my private dressing space. The gym didn’t have a women’s locker room, so I dressed in an old office off of the men’s locker room and bathed at home. I was pulling on my socks when the door opened abruptly.

Eton shut the door behind himself.

“What?” I asked. “Come to gloat?”

“Were you serious?” He ran a hand through his curly hair and levelled me with a strange look.

“Don’t I look serious?” I said, pulling down the shoulder straps of my shift.

Eton came around the wooden bench and held out his hands. “May I touch you?”

“Please.”

His hands were warm. Rough, as one might expect from a boxer, but gentle.

“Are you… a virgin?”

“Yes.”

“And your brothers… will they kill me for this?”

I swiveled my head like I was thinking about the answer. “It’ll be worth it.”

At that, he smiled.

.+.

“Leave us,” Tommy told the estate man. “What do you think?”

I ventured over to the grand staircase. Oak-paneled walls and ornate, gilded-frame portraits loomed above.

“It’s dark,” I said. “Drab.”

“It’s _expensive_ ,” Tommy corrected. “Twenty-four rooms. A basement. Two kitchens.”

“Who needs two kitchens?” I asked. “Do you plan on feeding an army?”

“Who knows…”

“Well,” I prompted, holding out my hand. “Let’s continue.”

We went up the stairs and Tommy showed me the master.

“Where would I sleep?”

“Wherever you want. Here,” he said, gesturing to the room. “Or another.”

“Do you not expect to take a woman, Tommy?”

The thought of him with a woman was… Nauseating. Rightfully. Any sister would be territorial. _Particular_. But the inevitability of him marrying was just that— _inevitable_. Tommy was popular with the ladies and if he wanted a family of his own he’d need to settle down soon.

“Like who?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Anyone you like.”

“Perhaps.”

This answer satisfied me somehow.

He ushered us along and we viewed the east wing. The second-floor, foyer balcony. Then the first kitchen. Then the east garden. From there, we walked to the stables. Several horses huffed white clouds into the cold air. Tommy helped me mount one of the fillies, then mounted his own. We rode out into the open fields, an overcast winter day pressing down from above.

“So?” he asked, once we’d come to a stop near a slow-moving river.

“So?”

“What do you think? Could this be our home?”

I patted my filly’s neck. “Sure. It needs work, but I don’t mind. I’ll give it Ana’s special touch.”

“I object only to the color yellow.”

“Well, the color yellow does not object to you.”

“Could you see yourself here for years to come?”

“Until I go away to school?” I said. “I don’t see why not.”

Tommy _hummed_ experimentally.

“I _will_ go away to school, Thomas. In two years.”

“Yes, I know.”

“But then I’ll come back.”

“You’d better.”

We rode back to the manor in silence.


	4. Eve

“Go and fetch the garlands from the basement. I want them hung just _here_ —in a sort of _swoop_ —and over the front door.” I used my hand like a wand, waving back and forth while speaking to the butler. His head bobbed along with my instructions. He then turned and tucked tail, scurrying from the women’s study.

“No _thank you_?” Ada asked.

“What else is a salary for except to say thank you?”

Polly pulled out one of her long cigarettes. “Holly would look better.”

“Who’s decorating?” I sidled up close until I could smell her pomegranate perfume. “Might I bum one of those?”

“One of these?” She held up the silver case. Her smile was like a sheet of ice. “One of my pre-rolled, Parisian—”

“ _Expensive_ ,” Ada enunciated, flipping through her fashion magazine.

“Cigarettes? Why, I don’t know.”

“What a snob you’ve become, Pol.”

She smirked. “Always have been.”

I caught Finn’s bright red hair from the corner of my eye. “Finn, come in here!”

“WHY?”

“Now.”

The boy sulked in, his hands behind his back.

“What’s that your hiding?” I asked politely.

“Nothing…”

“And on your face?” I reached out and swiped my thumb across the bridge of his nose, where a bit of white power was resting. I stuck my thumb into my mouth and waited for my taste buds to determine the flavor of the substance.

“Ew,” said Ada.

“S’ that Turkish Delight?”

“No,” said Finn.

“Give it here.” I held out my palm.

“It’s Christmas Eve!” he cried. “Please, Ana.”

“Let the boy have his treats.” A glance upward revealed Tommy rounding the corner, dressed in a three-piece suit and a silver chain. He ran his hand through Finn’s hair. “Get out of here. While you can.”

“He’ll spoil his appetite for dinner,” I said, watching Finn run away with a glass box of bright white candies.

“Dinner is—” Tommy checked his pocket watch. “Five hours away.”

“Still.”

“Have a break, love. There’ll be plenty to do when you come back.”

“She’s been a sergeant all day,” Polly informed. “Almost took off me bloody shoe once or twice.”

“Fuck me for wanting to make our first Christmas special,” I said.

Ada laughed and slapped her magazine onto the end table. “This isn’t anyone’s first Christmas, doll.”

“It’s our first Christmas in the new house and we have to… _christen_ it.”

Did they have no understanding of legacy? Or precedent?

“Anabel?”

I spun at the sound of my name.

Michael stood in the doorway looking dapper and sheepish. “Could I—?”

“Not at the moment, no. I’m waiting for the footman to come back and hang a set of garlands. Ah, there he is.”

The butler came waltzing in with a bundle of greenery.

“Go,” Tommy said.

“Stop tell me what to do,” I said. “I’ll be done in less than five minutes, Michael.”

Polly shook her head. “Ridiculous. He’s trying to give you your gift, stupid girl. I’ll tell the man where to hang those shitty little greens. Now, _go_.”

I met Michael’s eye. “Oh.”

“Yes. _Oh_ ,” he said, laughing. “Come on.”

.+.

The previous owners vacated the premises shortly after Thanksgiving. The ensuing month had been dominated with work being done on the water pipes and renovations to the foyer and additions to the guest wing. Tommy, Finn, and I had only moved in last week.

Michael took me to the stables—a spot I’d shown him on his first visit. Above the pen, in the hay loft, between the tack rooms, was a crooked spot. A slat in the wooden exterior exposed a prime view of the sprawling estate. As we settled into the sweet straw, I could see cars pulling up to the front of the manor, their exhausts pumping out smoke.

I rubbed my hands against my cheeks and Michael blinked several times fast.

“Are you crying?” he asked.

“No,” I said, quickly.

Water had collected on my bottom lashes, from the cold. He used his thumb to swipe the moisture away, much like I’d done with the sugar on Finn’s nose.

“Thanks,” I said. “What’s this gift, then?”

“It’s not much, but…”

He held out his hand. I took the small black box poised there. Already, a fluttering nervous feeling had settled in my stomach. He knew I wasn’t a fan of wearing jewelry.

My frozen fingers pried open the box to reveal a ring.

Teardrop cut. Set into a silver band.

“What’s this?”

“A ring.”

“I can see that. Why have you given me a ring?”

He paused. His grey eyes flitted to my lips.

“No,” I said.

“Yes,” he replied.

“No, Michael. No.” I pulled up onto my knees and shook my head angrily. “We put that shite behind us.”

“Hear me out,” he said, raising up as well. “Just hear me out before you decide.”

“You’re my _cousin_.”

His eyebrows furrowed deeply. He looked either appalled or confused. “Don’t give me that. Cousins all over the countryside get married every day.”

“Not us.” I threw the ring back into his lap. “It’d be hell. The whole family out to get you,” I said.

“I don’t care.” His hands came over and onto my thighs. He rubbed my legs. Up and down. Up and down. The touch wasn’t sexual, but the implication was there. He was attempting to remind my body he _could_ be sexual, if I would only see him that way. “I’ll face whatever. I don’t feel whatever it is I feel for you for anyone else.”

There. That’s where the idea came from.

“I do,” I said.

Michael went still. “What? For who?”

I twisted my lips. “A boy from my Boxing Club.”

“Since when?”

“Since we slept together two months ago.”

His hands left my legs. Internally, I breathed a sigh of relief.

“Are you in love?” His voice had gone deadpan. He stared off at a random point on the floor. The ring lay abandoned, beside him.

“Whatever that means.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you were in love with him…”

“Whether I am or I am not, I’m not in love with you.”

That took the wind right out of him. He stood up with haste, brushing the straw off of his nice pants, and didn’t wait for me.

“Forget it, then. This was stupid.”

“I’ll try,” I said. But I knew I wouldn’t be able to. Nothing would ever be the same between us again.

“I’ll see you back at the house.”

I listened as he climbed back down into the stable. He’d left his ring.

.+.

“What’s happened?” Tommy asked.

I watched, with my arms crossed, as the cooks put the finishing touches on the turkey spread.

“Nothing. Everything’s gone to plan.” I kept myself turned away from him. He knew my face too well.

He _hummed_. Not fooled.

“I don’t want any business tonight,” I told him. “If I see you conducting anything remotely serious at the party after dinner, you’ll meet a different side of me.”

“No sides I haven’t met yet, love.” He pinched my cheek.

“That’s enough of that.”

.+.

There were twenty-six place settings around the table. Gleaming porcelain plates and crystal cups and silverware polished beyond pristine. Everyone from Small Heath was there, looking out of place next to the finery, shouting and laughing across the room. The family congregated to one side, with Tommy at the head, while friends and associates were relegated to the other.

My eldest brother lifted his glass of wine—a short reprieve from whiskey, which would soon be remedied—and gave a toast.

“Season greetings and all that fucking bullshit. Here’s to another year of good earnings! _In the bleak midwinter._ ” 

The rest of the men and Polly chimed: _In the bleak midwinter._

.+.

“You’ve barely touched your food, Michael. You don’t like it? Do you want something else?” Polly prattled, playing the role of doting mother once again.

Michael sighed and did not look up from his plate. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Polly snapped twice and a waiter came to take his plate. “He’ll have two slices of dark meat. No gravy. A side of cranberries. Water. Thank you—”

“I said _I’m fine_ ,” Michael repeated. His anger made the table’s conversation lull for a moment. I kept my gaze away, so as to not exacerbate the issue.

“Mind your tone, young man.” Polly shook off his irritation with a bit of her own. “Don’t know what’s gotten into your bonnet, but—”

“ _You_ and your incessant babying. If I say I’m fine, _I’m fine_. Leave it at that.”

“Michael,” Ada chastised.

“Yes, Ada? What is it?” he grumbled.

“You’re being rude,” she said.

“Am I?” He sniffled and a light went off in my brain. _He’d taken snow_. “Well, you’d know, wouldn’t you? The mouth on you.”

John guffawed a bit too loudly, which garnered the attention of the rest of the table.

“Michael, you’re embarrassing yourself,” Polly said, not deigning to even look at him. “You’re excused.”

The young man began to laugh. Not like John. His laugh was mirthless and merciless. A bit deranged. “ _Fuck you_ ,” he said.

Tommy stood up. “Michael. It’s time to go.”

“I’ll go when I’m fucking ready to go.”

“Arthur.”

At Tommy’s implicit command, Arthur stood up and grabbed Michael by his shoulders. He began to steer him away from the table, but Michael wasn’t going to go without a fight.

“ _Fuck you_ ,” he yelled.

Now it was clear he was talking to me.

Tommy smashed his glass onto the table and lunged toward our cousin.

“I’ll cut your fucking tongue out of your mouth,” he said, held back only by John’s good grip.

“ _Thomas!_ ” Polly yelled.

“She’s a whore! A fucking whore! Slept with the whole Boxing Club! She’s a whore!” Michael shouted, his face turning red. “Let go of me!”

Arthur was finally able to drag him from the room, but we could still hear his voice echoing in the halls. _She’s a fucking whooooooore._

Thomas loosened his tie until the fabric was practically ready to fall off his neck. A bit of blood dripped from his hand where the glass had cut him.

“Excuse me,” he said.

“Tommy.” I half-stood from my seat, but he held out his hand.

“Stay here.”

“Don’t hurt him,” Polly pleaded. “He’s on something. Drink or drugs or… something. He’s not himself.”

That much was true, but Tommy wasn’t listening anymore. There was the look. The _war torn, out-of-his-God-fearing mind, I’ll beat you to death for looking at me sideways_ look. No one could reach him now.

“Enjoy the rest of your meal.”

As he exited, he was already rolling up his shirt sleeves.

.+.

The party in the parlor went on just though there had been no interruption. Spiced eggnog and brandy flowed. Loads of gifts, wrapped in red and silver foil, rested beneath an evergreen dusted with tinsel. Jazzy holiday themes blasted from the golden gramophone. 

“Look at your tongue!” I exclaimed. “It’s bloody red as a canary!”

Finn stuck the candy cane he’d been sucking back into his mouth and grinned cheekily.

“And I told him, _Look, mister. Women can conduct themselves within capitalism just as easily as men and they might even be more suited to the particular brand of cruelty which capitalism requires._ ” Ada’s high-pitched voice had stretched into a downright drawl with the drink. A group of men, also half-drunk, listened attentively to her diatribe.

Across the room, John and Arthur were engaged in an arm wrestle. John looked to be winning, which would surely result in a blowout if Arthur’s red face was any indication.

Tommy had yet to return with Michael.

I felt a hard grip on my arm.

“With me,” said Polly. “I need to speak to you.”

“Yes, alright. Let me just—” I nearly spilled my drink trying to set it down onto the side table as Polly hauled me off my chair. “ _Goodness,_ Pol.”

She took me out into the hall—which was empty save the occasional foot staff—and lowered her head to peer closely at my face. 

“What is it?”

“I want you to be honest with me.”

“’Course.”

“You’ll tell the truth? So help you God?”

“I’ll tell the truth.”

“So help you God.”

“Polly…”

“Say the words.”

“So help me God. _What is it?_ ”

“What’s happened between you and my son? Leave nothing out.”

Pressing my tongue into my cheek, I stalled. I could still lie, but would she be able to tell?

“Out with it,” she bit.

“I really would like _not_ to be slapped tonight,” I sighed.

“That remains to be seen.”

“Remember the night Tommy came home?”

She pursed her lips and nodded.

“I ran off and… Michael was the one to come and find me. In the attic of St. Luke’s. I’d been drinking. _A lot_. He had some snow on him, so we had some of that. Don’t know what happened, really, but there was a kiss.”

“Just one?”

“Nothing more.”

“And today?”

“He gave me a ring. Said he felt a way about me…”

Polly’s shoulders slumped. She looked like someone had taken the air out of her. “You told him no, yes?”

“Of course. _Of course_ , Polly.”

She laid a hand on my shoulder. “Good.”

“Do you suppose Tommy will have gone easy on him, seeing as it is Christmas Eve and that?”

Her eyes cut over at me. “What do you think?”

“I think he’d better keep his fat mouth shut about the proposal.”

“Tonight aside, Michael has a good head on his shoulders. He’ll keep quiet, if only for the sake of staying in the business.”

I nodded, as pensive as I could be with all the drink I’d had.

She poked me with her elbow. “What’s this about you having sex with the _whole_ Boxing Club?”

“Don’t know what he was on about,” I lied. “Probably upset at my declining his proposal.”

Polly eyed me for an extra-long instant.

“Just don’t end up pregnant,” she said, before returning to the party.

.+.

Around midnight, I donned a thick woolen robe, commandeered a lit candle from one of the holders in the hall, and traversed three staircases just to arrive at the east wing basement. This basement was the closest to the dining room. They would’ve taken him there.

The floor was wet and cold moisture seeped up through my socks. The walls, painted an ashen gray, were bathed in the pale glow of exposed bulbs. Numerous pathways fed into numerous turns until finally opening up into blank space.

In the middle, sat Michael. Strapped to a metal chair. Blood dripping from his right brow. Bruises beneath his eyes. Sleeping.

“ _Vicious man_ ,” I sputtered.

Once I’d reached him, I abandoned my candle by his side and brought my hands up to hover near his swollen face. Where could I touch him without causing more pain? His eyes cracked open. Just a bit.

“ _Ana?_ ”

“Don’t speak.” My hands came to rest on his neck. “I’m going to untie you. Okay?”

He shook his head. “No. Don’t.”

“I have to, Michael. I can’t leave you here.”

“Don’t. Don’t untie me.” He was crying. “Fuck. Please don’t. Please leave, Ana. Please.”

“ _Michael—_ ”

“I had to tell him everything. Everything… The kiss. The ring. Eton… Just go, Ana. Don’t make this worse.”

“Wouldn’t you like to be in your bed?” I asked. “Warm? It’ll be Christmas soon, if it isn’t already.”

Shaking from head to toe, he said: “He’ll kick me out of the business.”

“Would that be the worst thing?”

“I’ve already lost you. I won’t be losing my career. Now _go_!” he shouted. “ _Go!_ ”

Calmly collecting my candle, I told him: “You’re a fool to care what he thinks.”

“You think you don’t?” Michael spat. “ _Christ’s sake._ Always preening up at him. Going insane whenever he’s away. We all care what he thinks, but you’re the worst of us.”

“Fucking idiot, you are.” I turned my back on him and made to leave.

“Sleeping in his bed every night,” he called.

My feet froze. He began to laugh.

“You thought no one knew? Everyone does. _They’re just close,_ they all say, but I see the way Tommy looks at you when he thinks no one’s watching. And you him.”

“You’re out of your _fucking_ mind.”

“Not like a brother looks at a sister, that’s for sure. No. Like a _man_ looks at a _woman_.”

“What?” I turned my chin to glance over my shoulder. “You jealous?”

The spaced out gleam in his gray eyes… He wanted to kill me. “Yes.”

“Then maybe you _should_ be down here.”

Without waiting for his reply, I moved swiftly back into the tunnels.

.+.

The door to his study was ajar. The light left on. A voice inside my head (which sounded not unlike Michael’s) told me to keep walking. Go back to my room. Stay away. The trouble was: My body, having already slipped into the study, was pressing the door shut behind my back.

Tommy sat by the fire, his legs splayed wide, nursing a whiskey and smoking a cigarette. He’d shed down to his suspenders and a cotton shirt. He didn’t bother to look up when he heard the click of the door latch. 

“You went to see Michael.”

I sighed.

He nodded. “Come.”

There was an empty chair right beside him, but he’d patted his thigh. Out of the two, I knew which I preferred. Settling onto his lap—the warmth of the fire on one side and his pervasive heat on the other—filled my tired body with a baseline comfort. _Home_ , my brain registered, and the voice was gone.

He ran two fingers along my hairline, light as feathers. “Merry Christmas, love.”

“Merry Christmas.”

“Today’s going to be a good day. We’ll have breakfast and open presents.”

“ _Hmm._ Do you suppose Finn will like his miniature car?”

“I suppose he’ll be running over my feet for the next fortnight.” Tommy brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. “We’ll ride into Small Heath and hand out bread bundles to the misfortunate. I need to attend a charity gala in the evening, but I’ll be back at Watery Lane in time for the carolers.”

“Oh, you can’t miss _Joy to the World_. Four-year-old Joshua still thinks ‘Let Earth receive her King’ is ‘Letters repeat hur _ting_.’ It’s the funniest thing.”

Tommy cracked a smile at my rhyming and I tucked my head into the crook of his neck.

“It’ll be a good Christmas,” he said. “Then, when Christmas is over, a few things are going to happen.”

I stroked a finger along his collarbone. “Like what?”

“I’m going to have a talk with this… Eton.”

I stiffened in his arms. “What?”

“I’m going to have a talk with him like the talk I had with Michael and we’re going to get a few things straightened out.”

“Tommy—”

“Then, I’m going to have a talk with Lucky. This’ll be a different sort of talk. I’ll inform him you’re no longer going to be training at the Boxing Club, since you can’t seem to keep your legs shut while you’re there.”

Leaning forward, I felt his hand slide up into my hair and grip me firmly by the scalp. “ _Ah._ ”

“Then I’ll need to have a talk with Polly about removing Michael from the company.”

“You can’t—”

“Won’t be too pleasant, but they’ll both manage. Which just leaves my talk with _you_ , Anabel.”

Things were never good when he said my full name.

“I’ll ask you why it is you can’t seem to go anywhere without beating a man, fucking a man, or making a man fall in love with you. Think about that, because I’ll want an answer by then.”

“Why are you being like this?” I seethed, gritting my teeth.

Tommy pressed his lips against the shell of my ear and my entire body shuddered. “You said you didn’t want to be my little girl anymore. Consider this my Christmas gift.”

He released his grip on my hair. I couldn’t help but slump against him. My bones had turned to jelly.

“Up. We’ll need rest if we’re to have a good day.”

.+.

When we reached his room, I tried continuing onward toward my own, but his curious voice stopped me dead in my tracks.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I said: “We shouldn’t sleep in the same bed anymore. Everyone knows. They talk about us.”

Tommy ambled over. “Where did you hear that?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“You’re right. It doesn’t. Get your ass in there, love.”

“I’m not a fucking night light to keep your bad dreams away. I have _me_ own bed, Tom—”

His palm fell hard against the flesh of my ass.

“ _AH! God fucking damn you, you fucking piece of shit!_ ”

I didn’t care who heard us and, apparently, neither did he.

“Get to bed!” He pointed a commanding finger at the open door to his room.

My face was beet-red. No doubt.

“Anabel Eliza Shelby. Do not make me repeat myself.”

If I didn’t draw a line in the sand here, I felt I would be relinquishing a lot more ground in the near future. That said, I drew no such line. I might’ve furrowed my brow and glared at him through narrowed eyes, but I walked meekly through the door of my own accord.

“ _Atta girl_ ,” was his reply.

Those two words, all on their own, as they always had, brought about an acute pleasure. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter I have pre-written. The rest will be uploaded as they are written. Let me know what you think of the story so far. Comments are my life-blood and I survive off of them. Also, thanks for reading!


	5. Little Chicken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *in one hour* Happy Native American Heritage Day!

Our bodies melted together the same as two pats of butter over an open stove.

I dreamt we were in a travelling camp on the outskirts of Romania. The forests were dark with winter and wet with rain. Smoke from past fires lived inside the fibers of my clothes. My arms were stacked with jewelry—like silver bracelets were going out of style—and they _clinked_ whenever I moved, shattering the stillness of the forests.

Tommy was my husband.

He’d skinned a rabbit and as he hung the body to drip, I admired his lean strength. He was a hunter, through and through, with eyes like a wild hawk. Wordlessly, he reached out his hand. His bloody hand. His red, right hand. I came to him and he placed said hand on my belly.

When our eyes met, though nothing was said aloud, there seemed to me to have been a promise made. A promise of protection and fidelity, among love and tenderness. A binding promise. The sort which ends only upon death. 

_Death._

I woke up sweating. He wasn’t in the bed.

“Tom—”

“I’m here, love.” He was standing by the window, straightening his tie. “Sleep well?”

“ _Hmm_.”

“Couldn’t have an inch to me self.” His face was turned toward the light, but I could hear his smile in his voice. “Stuck to me side like jam.”

“’Twas probably you sticking to me, more like,” I said. “Hoping I’d forgive you for last night.”

He pulled his watch from his pocket and checked the time. “What could I hope to be forgiven for, love? I’ve committed no crimes… against you.”

“I’ll take a hot poker to your arse, then. See how innocent you find me after.”

Tommy came to the bed and placed a chaste kiss on my forehead. Why I had the compulsion to stretch my neck and meet his lips with my own, I don’t know…

“You needed seeing to,” he whispered into my hair. “Don’t forget what I said. I’ll want an answer.”

“Yes, I heard. Off your high horse now, I beg you.” Following my own whim, I dropped my head back to look into his eyes.

“You don’t know what begging _is_ , love.”

_Will you show me?_

“Get dressed,” he continued, standing up. “Come have breakfast with your family.”

He was already walking away when I asked: “And Michael?”

Tommy paused for a moment and I knew he hadn’t even been considered letting the boy come and sit at the table again.

“And Michael.”

Then he was out the door.

.+.

Breakfast was a haze of confections, honeyed ham and sparkling juice. Halfway through, Michael stumbled in wearing fresh clothes. His wet hair hung limp over his face, as though he’d thought to hide the purpling bruises underneath his eyes and along his cheek.

Polly rubbed a hand down her throat. “ _Excuse me_ ,” she said. Her words were marred with thick emotion.

“Pol.” Ada reached out to rub her hand along Polly’s arm.

“I need to lie down.”

Polly shuffled along the outskirts of the table. When she reached the head, where Tommy sat, she exploded into rage. She beat him, wherever she could, with closed fists. “ _How dare you!_ ” she screamed. Her face was purple as an overripe beet. “ _How dare you do that to my son, Thomas! My_ son _!_ ”

As John struggled to pull her off of him, Tommy took the blows like they were mere bee stings. His skin turned red where she’d struck him.

“Polly— _calm down_!” John jostled her as lightly as he could.

The funniest thing was Michael. He’d seated himself to the table and began fixing himself a plate as though nothing were happening.

“Take her upstairs, John. She’s upset. Needs rest,” said Tommy.

You would’ve thought him unperturbed if you didn’t know any better. The trouble was: We all knew better. Polly was as much a mother to him as our own mother had been and now she’d turned against him. For her own son and with good reason, but still…

“I’ll not forgive you for this, Thomas.” Polly spat at his plate as John dragged her by. “May you rot in Hell, _where you belong_!”

Once she was gone, the table ate in silence. Tommy pulled out a cigarette and smoked quietly whilst staring out of the sea of windows which overlooked his estate. Karl _cooed_ in his mother’s lap, oblivious.

“She’ll come around,” I said. _Something_ needed to be said. Though, perhaps, that wasn’t it.

“Not if he kicks me out of the business,” Michael mumbled.

“We won’t speak of business this morning,” Tommy said, still puffing away. “It’s Christmas.”

“She won’t,” Michael continued, his tone matter-of-fact. “If you turn me away, you’ll have lost both of us—”

“ _WE WON’T SPEAK OF BUSINESS THIS MORNING. IT’S FUCKING CHRISTMAS._ ” Tommy stubbed out his cigarette and pushed back from the table. His chair scraped horribly. “Did you hear me that time, Michael? Or do you need me to say it again?”

Michael’s nostrils flared. He kept his eyes glued to the ham. “No, Tommy. I heard you. Loud and clear.”

“Good.”

Tommy did not retake his seat. He was done with breakfast.

.+.

On account of the bad air, present opening was pushed until evening, to the displeasure of Finn. The footmen packed up the shining boxes and stored them in the boot of three cars—our _procession_.

“When is your gala event?”

Thomas and I were in one car. Polly, Ada, and Karl in another. John and Arthur in the last. Michael had stayed back, saying he’d be along later, once he’d slept and could feel his extremities again.

“Six o’clock.” He was sour, now. Breakfast had spoiled his appetite for the day. “You thinking of tagging along?”

“You’re the only one who works on Christmas, Tommy.”

“It’s for charity.”

“It’s for _connections_ ,” I said, fiddling with the tassel on my coat. “Think I’ll stay in. I’ve missed Watery Lane.”

“It’s been a week.”

“It’s been _a week_.”

Tommy huffed through his nose. The edge of his mouth ticked up. “Aye. It has.”

.+.

My decision was a _bold_ one—liable to result in the disproportionate restriction of my own person—but I couldn’t live with myself if I chose anything else.

I would warn Eton.

If Michael was any indication, Tommy could inflict great damage not just to a man’s physical body, but also his spirit.

At the first opportunity, I would take my leave. Which, true to form, didn’t come until nearly six o’clock.

“You’ll be back when?”

“Half past eight or nine. Why?” Decked in his three piece, with his hair slicked, freshly shaven—he was _a_ _dream_. The sort which bordered on being a nightmare and, as such, managed to come across all the sweeter. The sort of dream which was nearly life—only there was something too good to tip you off.

“I’m very excited to give you your gift,” I said; and I wasn’t lying, either.

First thing, after he went down to breakfast, I’d wrapped his keepsake in yellow foil and tied a satisfactory bow around the bundle.

“Me too, love. Me too.” He turned his wrist out to Ada. “Keep checking on her, alright?”

Sat in the armchair by the entrance to the shop, Ada glanced upward as though she could see through the ceiling all the way to Polly’s room. “She wouldn’t be like that if you’d just taken the day off— _one day off_ —and been a good cousin to Michael. I don’t know what he did, but whatever it was, it didn’t warrant that, Tom.”

“He tried to steal from me, Ada.” Tommy held out his hands, attempting a placating gesture. In truth, he looked like a man holding an invisible world in the palm of his hands. “What would you have me do?”

The implications of his statement weren’t lost on me, though they were certainly lost on Ada. She was quiet for a moment.

“He’s family,” she said.

“Which is why he’s alive.”

“Don’t even imply otherwise might be the case, Tommy. Ada’s right. He’s family. He’s Aunt Pol’s son. _Your_ cousin.” I chucked his chin lightly with the knuckles of my fist. “A _Shelby_.”

“A Gray,” he corrected, peering down at my face with lidded eyes.

“A Gray by name. A Shelby by blood.”

Ada seconded my statement with a _humph._

“Well, then.” He turned toward the door. I could see in his eyes he’d skated right past our comments. Tommy would do as he pleased, in the end, as all men do.

“Be safe, ole boy.” I patted his back twice.

“Be good, little girl.” He sent a sharp look over his shoulder.

My head bobbed as I moved to shut the door. “Certainly.”

Once I heard the door on his Bentley shut—the motor _crank_ and the wheels _squelch_ —I abandoned my post by the door and threw on my coat.

“Where are you going?” Ada asked, leaning forward in her chair.

“The Garrison,” I said. “Arthur and John aren’t likely to prevent my having a drink if Tom’s not there.”

“I’ll come too then. It’s dead boring round ‘ere.”

“ _Ada_ ,” I snapped. “Tommy told you to look after Polly.”

“Pol’s forty-five,” Ada said, slipping on her shoes. “She can look after herself. This Christmas is shaping up to be one of the worst, including the one when the boys were away at war and there was no lard for the—”

“I’m going to see a boy.”

“—chicken. _You’re_ _what?_ ” She’d been about to stand, but promptly plopped back down onto her seat.

I sighed, forlorn-like, and dropped my head to look at her through my lashes. “I’m in love, sis.”

“You’re _what?_ ” Ada exclaimed, resembling a guppy fish.

“Don’t act so surprised.”

“You? _In love?_ ” She sent her eyebrows sky high. “Hell has frozen over.”

“Now, if I weren’t so level-headed, I might take offense at your level of _shock_.”

“Who is the lad? How long has this romance been going on?”

“His name is Eton. We met at the Boxing Club, when I started training there.”

“Does anyone else know?” she whispered.

I pursed my lips. “No. It’s a secret.”

Ada smiled. “And you’re seeing him on Christmas? That must mean you’re quite serious about him.”

“Well, you see, I haven’t seen in days. I _miss_ him. Bought him a present and everything.”

“Right.” Ada nodded succinctly and gathered her things. “I’ll take you to him.”

“You will?”

“We’re not staying long enough for you to get your rocks off, but _yes_. You can see your _beau_. Let this be my gift to you.”

“We should hurry. He lives in King’s Heath. It’ll be nearly seven before we arrive and then we’ll need to be back before Tommy.”

Ada snatched her hat off of the side table, giddy with nerves. “Oh, this is so exciting! POLLY, WE’RE GOING OUT! BE BACK SOON!”

.+.

“Where in King’s Heath does this Eton live?” Ada asked.

We were staring out the back windows of a rented car at row after row of identical houses. King’s Heath was cleaner than Small Heath; less irregular, too.

“Not sure. Not _exactly_ sure.”

“He hasn’t told you?”

“We usually see each other at the gym.” In the dressing room. Out back. “We’re going to have to ask someone. Tell him to stop the car.”

Ada gave instruction to the driver and we rolled to a stop. When I opened my door and glanced back from where we’d come, I saw a boy rolling dice near a streetlamp.

“Eh! You there!”

He glanced up like he was in trouble.

“Calm down, will you? I need your help. You know of an Eton Sheffield who lives around here?”

“And if I do, what’ll you give me for the information?”

I chuckled. “I’ll let you keep your dice.”

“No luck,” he said, tossing his colorful pieces once more.

The sun was going down. I couldn’t waste much more time.

“How’s about a fiver?”

“Five _pounds_?” the boy asked.

“A deal?”

“Deal.”

As I climbed back into the backseat, I told the driver: “1121 West.”

.+.

Ada was kind enough to stay in the car.

I knocked twice. Eton opened the door. Lucky, that.

“Ana?”

“Hello. Merry Christmas,” I said, grimacing. “Bad news.”

“What’s happened?” He came out onto the stoop and shut the door on children’s laughter.

“My brother knows.”

Eton was quick on the uptake. “Which brother?”

“Well, all of them, but… It’s Tommy you’ll be having the problem with.”

Eton’s jaw buckled. “Okay.”

“You’ll want to be out of town for a few days. Don’t tell anyone where you’re going. I won’t be coming back to the gym. A week’s time, this’ll be old news. I’m sure.”

He nodded along, only pausing when I said I wouldn’t be coming back. “You’ve quit?”

“No,” I protested, vehement. “But, so long as my brother rules my life, I won’t be able to train.”

“How long will that be?”

I swallowed. “When I’m eighteen, I’ll go away to school in London. Perhaps, I’ll pick it back up then.”

Eton shook his head. “You never beat me, but I still thought you were a fighter.”

“I am… I’m here, aren’t I?”

He nodded, begrudgingly. “Yeah. Cheers.”

I’d turned, poised to walk away, when a thought struck me. “Your fingers apply too much pressure when you’re rubbing a girl’s… You’ll want to practice a bit,” I said, descending the steps. “For the next girl.”

“You were tricky,” Eton called. “Not easy to please!”

“ _Excuses_.”

A flatbed truck with a tented back pulled up beside the rental car. At once, three men with cloth bags over their heads jumped out and began circling the car. One went to apprehend Ada, while the other two came for me.

“Ada!”

I sent a tight fist into one man’s face and a booted foot into the other man’s shin, but wasn’t fast enough to stop them grabbing my arms and legs and hauling me like a sack of flour to the back of the truck. A single glance at Eton’s house showed he’d gone inside and shut the door.

I knew how to _fucking_ pick ‘em.

.+.

Eight-thousand one-hundred and fifty-seven seconds divided by sixty… Come on, arithmetic…

_Two hours and … fifteen minutes._

We’d travelled two hours and fifteen minutes with cloth bags over our heads, Ada and I. Which meant we could be anywhere from Liverpool to London. Still, as long as they didn’t transfer us onto a boat, our circumstances were manageable.

We gripped each other tightly. No telling when they’d rip us apart, nor what they’d have in mind to do to us. The men said not a word the entire trip, but I could hear them breathing. _Mouthbreathers_ , the lot of them.

When the truck parked, I ceased counting. They grabbed us by our shoulders and off-loaded us onto concrete.

“This way,” they said. Their accents weren’t foreign. They were Cockney and Londoner. 

We were led into a wide space. I knew because I could hear our footsteps echo. The air was cold, until we went through another door. I smelt smoke, heard a fire burning.

“I’ve guests to entertain. I’ll see you in a bit, yeah?”

The bag was ripped off of my head suddenly.

A yellow room with brown furniture slowly came into view. A burly man with wide-set shoulders and a thick bread stood over the fire. He’d just set a phone down onto its receiver.

A quick darting glance to my left: Ada. Her face was dry, her gaze firmly set. _Good girl._

“What have we here? _Absolute babies_ , you two. Enough to make a man feel _fucking old_ , yeah?” The man wrung his hands, which were adorned by thick gold rings. “Your names are similar, I’ve been told. Can’t _fucking_ remember…Which is which?” He pointed one finger at Ada. “Ana, was it?”

“ _Ada_ ,” my sister said. Her voice didn’t waver at all.

The man twisted his finger around toward me. “Ana?”

“Fredericka,” I said.

His face twisted up. He scratched at his beard. “Then who the fuck is named Ana?”

I shrugged.

“This one,” he said, smiling. “She’s yanking my chain, ain’t she?” 

“Where are we?” Ada asked, hoping to distract from my impertinence. “Why have you taken us?”

“That’s a good question, _shayna_ _punim_. My name is Alfie Solomons. Nice to meet you. Right now, you are in my shop. We bake bread here. Brown bread. White bread. All sorts of bread, really…” He sized us up as he spoke—one by one—and went a bit cross-eyed for a moment. Then he clapped his large hands together and asked: “Would you like to try some?”

“ _Bread?_ ” Ada asked.

“ _Hmm._ ”

“Sure…”

.+.

Tommy came home to an empty flat. “I’m back!”

Finn came down the stairs, gnawing on a turkey leg. “Is it time to open presents?”

“Where are the girls, Finn?”

“Don’t know. They left.”

“Left where?”

The boy shrugged.

“Is Polly still here?”

“Yeah. She’s been in the bath since earlier.”

“Good. You go upstairs and wait. I’ll be back in a bit.”

“When are we going to open presents?”

“As soon as I come back.”

“What if I’m asleep?”

“Then we’ll open them in the morning.”

“I’d rather you wake me up. Whenever it is.”

“Noted, Finn. Now, go on.”

Once the boy was up the stairs, Tommy turned right back around and left. He ended up at The Garrison. Welcomed by a crowd of drunk men, he pushed through them to the family’s private room. John was having a lap dance from a young lady, while Arthur had his _head_ in another young lady’s _lap_.

“Are the girls here?”

“No, Tom. Haven’t seen ‘em since we arrived in Small Heath.” Arthur flipped over onto his back and allowed the girl to continue combing her fingers through his hair. “That’s _nice_.”

Tommy sighed. “Get up.”

“Come on, Tommy. You do this every time I’m enjoying me self—”

“Get up, _Arthur._ The girls aren’t at the house and they’re not here.”

“They’re probably at some women’s bar. You know how Ana likes to drink.”

There was a knock on the latch door. Tommy pulled it open. “What is it?”

“There’s a phone call for you, Mr. Shelby.”

Tommy exited the private room and went behind the bar to take the phone from Fenton. “Quiet!”

The noise level in the bar dissipated to nothing.

“Who is this? What do you want?”

“’Ello, Tommy. What a lovely voice you have over the phone. Very commanding, it is.” Alfie Solomons cleared his throat. “I have two spatchcock chickens at my disposal and I thought you might be hungry.”

“ _Spatchcock?_ ” Tommy asked, serious.

“Not yet. Of course, they could’ve been. Caught wind of Sabini’s boys gearing up to filet these chickens and I thought to myself— _Alfie, wouldn’t those chickens be better use alive than dead?_ _Why yes, Alfie, they would_. That’s what I thought to myself. So I had my boys collect those chickens.”

“You have them? Now? In Camden Town?”

“Yes. They’re at my bakery. Found them running around in King’s Heath, of all places. You really must keep an eye on these feathered creatures. There are foxes about town, Tommy.”

“ _Alfie_. You be careful around those chickens.”

“I’ve guests to entertain. See you in a bit, yeah?”

.+.

Tommy was going to have a fit. We were positively _knackered_. Veritably _smashed_. Fortunately, or unfortunately, _toasted_.

“That’s good bread,” I drawled, tossing back the rest of my glass.

“Now, look here, I _cannot tell_ if this one is being serious.” Alfie waved his finger in my direction and leaned conspiratorially closer to Ada’s side. “She has this voice, don’t she, like she’s pulling tricks?”

“That she does.” Ada hiccupped. “She’s like a… platypus.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Alfie agreed. “Very _mysterious_. Very _platypus-y_.”

The liquid stalled in my throat and I began to choke with laughter. “Fuck—”

“Oh. Disgusting, that.” Alfie leaned back, eying the liquor which was now dripping down my shirt.

“A right mess,” Ada agreed, pouring herself another drink.

We’d congregated around the fire. Men’s footsteps sounded faintly outside the door, but in Alfie’s office, the world was muffled and warm. Alfie told us the circumstances quite plainly: Sabini would’ve killed us whereas he would not. He also said Tommy would come soon—as soon as he was able—which set us both at ease.

“What is your relationship with my brother, Mr. Solomon?” Ada asked politely.

“Please, love. Alfie. Don’t use me fucking surname like we haven’t just become friends. Let us see… Your brother, to _me_ , is a… _Hmm_ …” Alfie cocked his head this way and that. Squinted his eyes. I couldn’t help but laugh at his numerous expressions. “The man’s a machine.”

“A what?” I asked.

“An _automaton_. A fucking Bentley come to life, right? He _operates_ and I _use_ him when he is _useful_. But because he’s got a face and a way about him, sometimes I mistake his machinations for _feelings_ —a _soul_ —which he don’t have.”

“Our brother does too have a soul,” I said, indignant. “He’s a right sop if you twist his arm.”

“Is he now?”

“If you’d seen him when Ada had her baby, you’d know.”

“You have a baby, dear?”

Ada nodded.

“That’s _nice_.” Alfie’s massive upper body swayed. “But your brother, among the hundreds of men I’ve met, is the only one with death in his eyes. Right _there_ —” He pointed two of his fingers toward his eyes like he was preparing to poke them out. “Right there in his eyes, a dead thing sits. I would kill him if he wasn’t a gypsy bastard, sure to haunt me the rest of my days.”

“He wouldn’t be the only one,” I said, then took a sip of my white bread.

Alfie smirked. Underneath, he wasn’t smiling, though. I could see that now—how he wielded a jovial persona to hide the volatile beast beneath his clothes—and understood why Ada had kept herself agreeable all night.

“Do you have a family, Alfie?”

He blinked. Hard. “ _Wha’?_ ”

“Brothers? Sisters? Nieces? Nephews?”

“No.” He groaned deep in his throat.

“You don’t?”

“I—” He eyed me, wary. “What are you doing, mate?”

“Just a question.”

“Alright. Just a question… Yes. I had a brother.”

“Was he killed or did he die?”

“Neither. He stopped being my brother. I don’t talk about him and _he doesn’t talk about me_.”

“Do you know where he lives? What he’s up to?”

“No and… _no._ ”

“If he were killed—”

Alfie shifted his great body and the wooden chair beneath him protested at the movement. There was my answer.

“Would you kill the person who’d killed your brother or would you allow bygones to be bygones?”

We sat in silence—a drinking silence—while Alfie considered my question. In actuality, he was considering me. My motives. My point, which was obvious, but also which concessions might be attached to my point. Several moments later, he cleared his throat and replied:

“They would die same as him, little chicken. Same as him.”

“Of course.”

“You’re dangerous,” he said.

“Only to a few.”

The doors burst open.

“Alfie,” Tommy greeted, striding in, his black coat billowing around him. “Get up. Get to the car.”

Arthur and John flanked the doors, waiting to escort us.

“ _Tommy,_ ” Ada cried out.

“I’ll speak to you both on the way back, now please—” Tommy took a deep, strained breath. “Go.”

My brother wouldn’t meet my eye. As Ada and I shuffled our way toward the door, I said, over my shoulder: “Thanks for the bread.”

“You’re welcome, little chicken.”


	6. Mother's Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments!

Tommy kept quiet. It was us and Ada and Arthur and John driving and _seventeen guns_ , if I’d counted correctly. Plus, an entire convoy of Blinders. He’d come to Camden expecting a fight. Which made me wonder what he’d had to do to avoid one…

The house was quiet and dark when we made our way inside.

“I want armed lookouts on every door,” said Tommy. “We’ll head back to the manor in the morning.”

“Aye.” Arthur gripped my neck and pulled my head close for a kiss. “Scared the lot of us.”

“John, take Ada home. Then go tell Curly to tell Charlie I’ll be ‘round the shipping yard at five. I want to see him before we leave.”

John nodded gravely, then held out his hand to Ada. She accepted without hesitation.

“I can’t do this anymore, Tom.” Ada had tears in her eyes.

“I know. Go be with your son. I’ll sort this out.”

Ada and John left with Arthur following close behind.

I wasn’t sure what to do with me hands. Or my mouth. “So much for a good day…”

Thomas ripped off his tie. He strode over to the bar cart and poured himself four fingers of whiskey. Downed the drink in one shot.

“We’re fine,” I said. “Alfie was good to us—”

“What were you doing in King’s Heath, Ana?”

“What?”

Tommy licked his lips. “You heard me.”

“Is that _really_ what you’re concerned about right now—”

“ _Yes._ Answer the bloody question.”

“I went to warn Eton.”

Tommy’s mouth set into an amused grimace. “ _Fucking…_ ” He wheeled back—his arm went wide—and threw the glass at the nearest wall. The devastating crash shocked my nerves.

“Thomas! You’ll wake Finn and Polly!” 

“Finn told me to wake him when I came home.” His laughter was brittle. “Wanted to open his presents on Christmas day.”

“I had to warn him, Tommy. After what you did to Michael.”

“What did I do to Michael, _hmm?_ ” He slipped out of his coat, then his suit jacket, leaving him in only his dress shirt. The golden link chain around his bicep was struggling to contain him. “Michael made his own bed, love.”

“He proposed to me. That’s it. And I said _no_ , Thomas.”

“You said you were in love…” His voice took on an otherworldly note as he studied my face. “Michael told me everything. You said you were in love with the boy from the Boxing Club… The one who shut his door when you needed help.”

“I said what needed saying in the moment. I don’t love Eton any more than you love Lizzie.”

“And what if I did love Lizzie?”

“Fuck off,” I said, tugging my coat down my arms.

“What if I did?”

“You don’t.” My coat fell to the floor. “Lizzie’s a whore and you’re a bloody idiot.”

“I ought to wash your mouth out with soap.” Polly stood on the stairs, watching us. In her dahlia-red night gown, her dark curls loose, she appeared like a wraith. “You’re both acting boorish and crass. It’s been a long day. Go to bed.”

“I haven’t needed a bedtime since I was nine and I don’t need one now, Pol.” Tommy waved his hand, a dismissal.

As he went to pour himself another drink, I shook my head. “Don’t you come crawling into my bed tonight. You can sleep alone.”

Everyone already knew, but there was something about saying the words aloud in front of Polly which made the entire arrangement seem _illicit_. Tommy’s glacial eyes pinned me. Here was the line in the sand which I’d failed to draw yesterday.

“I’m serious,” I said.

“I can see that, love.” He took a sip of his drink, but would not blink the eyes he’d pinned me with. “Suits me fine.”

“Yeah?”

“ _Hmm._ ”

When I turned, Polly was still on the staircase, watching us. “You’re alright?” she asked, as I made to shimmy by.

“Fine.”

“Good. Hurry along.”

.+.

“You have to stop.”

Tommy did not turn away from the fire. “I can’t do this tonight, Pol. We can speak about Michael’s position in the company on Monday—”

“I’m not talking about Michael now. I’m talking about Ana.” Polly placed one careful foot in front of the other—as precise with her feet as she would need to be with her words.

“ _Go on._ ” 

“I see clearly now what I couldn’t before… I was blinded by my love for you… Enough I couldn’t recognize your love for her.”

Tommy bobbed his head. “You’ve seen the light. _Praise Mary._ I love my sister.”

“Thomas—”

“You must be fucking drunk.”

“Whatever this is, you need to put a stop to it.”

“Is that how you spent your day? While I was out there making compromises to save my _fucking_ sisters from our enemies—”

“Your enemies.”

“You were here, drowning your sorrows in wine, eh?”

“Is the baby yours?” Polly asked softly.

Thomas doubled back. Blinked several times. “What fucking baby?”

“Ana’s baby.”

A crease formed between his brows.

Polly took the glass from his hand and stepped back. “I’ve had a dream.”

“Another one?” he spat, halfheartedly. The truth was sinking deeper, second by second.

“The girl’s carrying a child. Is it yours?”

“We’ve not… She’s my—” Tommy met her eyes.

Polly clutched her chest and sighed. “Oh, _thank God._ ”

“Fuck.” He could hear the rapid fire _pop_ of guns and feel the bone deep _shake_ of shellshock, but otherwise, he’d gone blank.

“Have a seat. Here, sit. I’m glad to know I was wrong.”

Tommy bypassed Polly’s outstretched hands in favor of heading toward the staircase.

“Thomas, come back. _She_ doesn’t even know yet!”

Her voice was a distant horn on the edge of the battle field.

.+.

The lock on my door was mostly for show.

I heard the _click_ —the _slip_ of metal on wood, the _creak_ of unoiled hinges—yet remained still beneath my bedcovers.

“I know you’re awake.” His voice was thin; wavering. _He’s a right sop if you twist his arm…_ “Come ‘ere.”

“I’m not getting up.”

His breath flooded out of him and I felt the bed sink with his weight. His dense arm came around my side and settled across my stomach.

“What do you want?” I kept my gaze on the yellow daffodils painted on my wall. _A springtime baby…_ Why was I thinking that? “I told you—you can’t sleep here.”

“I brought you something.”

“A present?”

“A present. Would you like to see?”

“I wouldn’t mind…”

Tommy took his arm away. “Sit up.”

As I pushed myself upright, he slipped my hair over onto one of my shoulders. “What are you—?”

“Hold still.”

Cold metal settled along my collar bone. I brought my hand out from under the sheets to finger a glittering silver necklace composed of miniscule diamonds. Four-pointed stars strung together by moonlight. When I looked up, half of Tommy’s face was warm from the glow of the coals. The other half, cast in shadow.

“What is this?”

“It’s platinum. Styled off of a necklace worn by Queen Victoria. Three different cuts of diamond.” He rubbed his thumb along the dip of my neckline. “Pear, round, and marquise. Altogether, they make for a combined weight of _fifteen-point-eight-three carats_.”

“And I’m supposed to wear this to The Garrison, am I?”

He smiled. “You’re supposed to give it to your children. Then they’ll give it to your grandchildren. And, so on. Only the King’s richer than us, love. Time we started acting like it.”

I sighed.

“You don’t like it,” he said, taking his hand away.

“I _love_ it.” And I _did_ , in a self-indulgent, rich girl way. It was the prettiest necklace I’d ever seen and the nicest thing I’d ever owned. “What did Polly say?”

“Don’t worry about Polly.”

“What did Alfie say?”

“Don’t worry about Alfie.”

“Who am I to worry about then? You tell me.”

“Worry about yourself, love.” His eyes flickered downward.

“You were in my dream last night,” I said suddenly.

His eyebrows rose. “Let’s have it then.”

“We were in a caravan outside Romania. Living in the woods.” Goosebumbs prickled my skin. “You’d caught a rabbit for dinner and… Your hands were _bloody_ and… You placed one onto my stomach.”

Tommy’s hand came to rest on top of my shift. “Like this?”

“Yes.” I settled my hands on top of his and met his eye. “We looked at one another and… I knew as long as you were alive, I would be safe.”

“As long as I’m alive, you will be.” His gaze flickered left and right as he pondered something for a moment. “Your baby, too.”

I took my hands off his. The room had taken on a hazy, dreamlike quality. _Was I even awake?_ “What baby?”

“You have the gift. Like Pol,” he said. “You know what I’m talking about.”

Springing away from him, I settled onto the edge of the bed. My mouth drew out into a long line. “ _Ah, shit._ ”

“It’s alright, love.”

“ _No_.” I slapped his chest. Hard. “It is not alright! I don’t want to be pregnant!”

And by Eton Sheffield of all people! _Shit._ If my luck was good—which it obviously wasn’t—my child would have his incredible bone structure _and_ his incredible cowardice.

“Well.” Tommy leaned back against the headboard. “There are other avenues.”

He was talking about seeing a doctor.

I shook my head. “My friend, Ginny, died in a place like that.”

“We’d hire the best.”

“I do want kids in the future, Tommy. Always have. I won’t end up with a botched uterus.”

“There’s adoption…”

“And wind up like Polly? Pining after my lost child?”

“Polly’s children were stolen.”

“Would my heart know the difference?”

He went quiet. “Your heart is quite _one note_.”

“ _Fuck._ ”

“Which is why you’ll succeed at mothering. You have an aptitude for love, sure as I have an aptitude for business.”

“You have an aptitude for death,” I said, remembering my dream.

“Only way to avoid death is to become friendly with him. Keep him distracted and he’ll forget he’s come to collect your soul.”

“You keep him busy another hundred years and I’ll be happy.” Without delay, I scooted over and plopped down onto his chest. Clung to him, tight.

“What do you say? Do you think my charm will run out before then?”

“Better not.”

“It’s all about you, then?” Tommy chuckled.

“Yes. It’s all about me. For now…”

.+.

“ _Hey…_ ”

My dreams were a chaotic assembly of fire and shadows and the incessant _wash_ of ocean waves. Someone was rubbing my shoulder, but I couldn’t come out of my sleep.

“Wake up, love. It’s time to go home.”

When I opened my eyes, the world was dark. “What time is it?”

“It’s early. We’re going to stop by the shipping yard for a bit,” Tommy said. “You can sleep in the car.”

I bobbed my head. “Okay.”

“Good girl.”

He pulled back the covers and I placed my bare feet onto the wooden floor. “It’s cold.”

“You’re not dressed.”

“I need to speak to Polly.”

“She’ll be asleep now.”

“Still…”

“We’re not coming back to Small Heath for a while. Now’s the time.” Tommy pulled on his suit jacket. “Wake Finn while you’re at it.”

Stumbling down the hallway in only my shift, I stopped at the door to Polly’s room. Before I was able to knock, I heard the words: “ _Come in._ ”

Lit candles. The scent of rose petals. An open window and a wintry draft.

“Have you been awake all night?” I asked.

She was sitting straight up in bed, with her eyes closed and her head tossed back. “ _Hmm._ Been listening.”

“To what?”

“The _wind_.” Polly patted her bedspread—red silk with black baroque vinyl. “Come. Take a seat.”

I climbed onto the bed and knelt with my calves underneath my thighs. “You had a dream.”

“Didn’t you?” she asked, not bothering with opening her eyes.

“I did. The night of Christmas Eve.”

“Who’s the father?”

“No one, just... A boy from the Boxing Club. _Tosser._ ”

Polly lifted her head and slowly smiled. “You’re going to have a baby.”

“Don’t.”

“Was there anything else in your dream?”

“No, that was it.”

“Liar.”

“Was there anything else in yours?” I asked, fingering her soft sheets.

“Yes.”

“Do tell.”

“Thomas.” She watched my reaction with lidded eyes. “And Michael.”

“ _Oh?_ ”

“They were stood in black water, up to their knees. Fighting, viciously. You stood on the shore. A hand on your belly.” Polly placed her long, delicate fingers onto her own stomach. “Waiting to see who would win.”

“Funny dream, that.” I rolled my shoulders. “There ain’t a question in my mind who would win.”

“How’d you sleep last night?’ Polly asked, a double connotation shining through her words.

“Just fine. No dreams, if that’s what you mean.”

“That’s a nice little number you’ve got there.” She brushed her delicate neck.

“It was a gift.”

“From Tommy? Figures.”

“I need to wake Finn.” Unwinding myself, I slipped off of the bed.

“Be careful.”

“What’s that?”

“You stay back from the fight. You have more than just yourself to think about,” she said, her gaze flickering to my midriff.

I left without offering a response.

.+.

The streets of Birmingham were dead. With the temperature and the strange hour, even the drunks and prostitutes were home, in their beds. Finn had laid his head on my lap and went back to sleep, but I kept awake.

“What are you speaking to Charlie about?”

Tommy stared out the window. “A change in business.”

“Does this have anything to do with Alfie?”

“I do business with Alfie. Yes,” said Tommy.

Which was probably the best I would get.

He exited the car at the docks and was climbing back inside before the sun came up.

“That was quick.”

“We need to make another stop.”

Tommy gave the driver an address.

“We’re going to Ada’s house?” I asked. “Why?”

“She and Karl are going to come live with us for a bit.”

An image of Alfie flashed before my eyes. “What does _shayna punim_ mean?”

“If it’s not English and it’s not Romanian, I wouldn’t know.”

 _Shayna punim_.

“It’s Jewish,” I said. “Or, Hebrew, rather. Alfie called Ada that. Would’ve been a nickname, given the context. Complimentary, given the _tone_ …”

Alfie Solomons wasn’t a _kind man_. He practiced _kind mannerisms_ , so that he might be accepted among polite company and women, but his true nature was… Roughhewn. Like mountains of shale, carved out by years of daily wind, or brown bread baked using coarse chaff.

His eyes shifted back and forth. “Ada doesn’t need to worry about Alfie.”

“I never said she did. But why not?”

“He’d never marry a gentile.”

“A gentile?”

“A non-Jewish person. _Jews and gentiles…_ ”

“ _Ah._ ” The man _did_ have a code; and based on religion, too. “How do you know? You two talk about these things, do you?”

Tommy reached over and ran his hand through Finn’s hair. “He’s a talker.”

“He spoke about you last night. Said things I wouldn’t have thought… But then he knows a different side of you.”

“What things?”

“All sorts.”

“Such as?” He prompted, impatient.

I smiled, happy to give him a taste of his own reticence. “Said you have no soul.”

Tommy smirked at that. “Did he?”

“You’re a machine, with death in your eyes and no soul,” I said, laughing.

“Careful, you’ll wake him.” There was a twinkle in his eyes. “He’s spot on, Alfie.”

“ _Scarily_ accurate.”

“He’s got a gift.”

I slapped a hand over my mouth to keep the giggles in. Tommy placed a finger over his lips. I nodded.

“You didn’t tell him otherwise?” he asked.

“No,” I lied. “He was convinced. We spoke about his brother, too.”

“His brother?”

“Yes. He no longer speaks to him. They had a falling out of sorts, but Alfie still cares for him. I could tell.”

Tommy glanced back out the window. “Interesting.”

“You won’t use that information. I’ve told you in confidence, just as Alfie told me.”

“You’re naïve, love, to think Alfie has placed his confidence in you.”

“Am I also naïve to think you aren’t a machine, with death in your eyes and no soul?”

Tommy was silent for a moment. “I won’t use what you’ve told me.”

“Promise.”

He couldn’t go back on a promise.

“I promise.”

.+.

Finn went wild about his motorized mini car.

“Can I drive it now?” he asked, eyes wide.

We were in the family room. The tree was still up, although it didn’t appear as festive now.

“Sure,” said Tommy. “But Finn—” He stuck out a commanding finger. “Be careful of the baby.”

“I will, Tommy!” Finn climbed into the car and, quick as he could, sped off into the hall. Karl was on his heels, waddling after him.

“That’s not going to end well,” said Ada. “I should go watch ‘em.”

“That’s what maids are for. Take a rest,” said Tommy

Ada yawned. She resembled a cat, lounging on the couch. “I think I’m going to go back to bed, actually.”

“That’s a good idea,” I said. “I might, too. After I give Tommy his gift.”

“I think Tom would appreciate you doing as your told every now and again,” she quipped, standing up. “As would the rest of us.”

I cocked my head to the side. “Are you still upset about yesterday?”

“ _Am I still—?_ ”

“I’m _joking_ , Ada. Go have a nap. Maybe you’ll lighten up.”

“I ought to smack you,” she muttered, walking out.

“I’m so _delighted_ she came to live with us.”

“I heard that!” Ada yelled from the hall.

Tommy checked his watch. “What’s this gift?”

“You’ll see.” I went over to the tree and collected his yellow package. “Do you have somewhere to be?”

“Always have somewhere to be, love.”

“Open it quickly, then. Here,” I said, tossing the bundle onto his lap.

The foil was soon crumpled and tossed to the floor.

“It’s a book of poems,” I said. “Anne Ridler. There’s one in there called, ‘At Parting,’ I read a lot while you were away. She writes… _We cannot quite cast out lack and pain. Let him remain—what he may devour we can well spare. He never can tap this, the true vein. I have no words to tell you what you were, but when you are sad, think: Heaven could give no more_.”

Thomas held my gaze. “Beautiful, that.”

“You won’t have much time for reading seeing as you always have somewhere to be, but… I wanted you to have that.”

“And this?” He held up the silver chain I’d wrapped twice around the book.

“A necklace, funny enough.”

“Am I expected to wear this?”

I held my hand up to my throat. “Am I expected to wear this?”

He nodded. “Thank you, love.”

“You’re very welcome.”

“I need to go.” He set the book down onto the table and stood. “I’ll be back late… Probably miss dinner.”

“We’ll manage.”

“Don’t leave the house. If anyone drops by who isn’t Shelby, don’t let them in. If you need help, ring Arthur or John.”

“What do you imagine will happen while you’re away?”

“These are just ground rules from now on and I don’t want to hear you’ve done any different.”

“Not leaving the house is a ground rule?”

“Yes.”

“Then where are you going?” I asked, folding my hands across my lap.

“You being smart or is that a genuine question?”

“Both.”

Tommy came and placed his arms onto the back of my chair. Leaning over me, he whispered: “I didn’t make a fuss about your going to King’s Heath… Thought being kidnapped put things into perspective for you fine… But all actions have consequences, Ana. Say you go out, eh? Have a good time. Because if you’re not kidnapped, then you’re dealing me. Sound good?”

I swiveled my head away from him. “Nowhere for me to go anyway.”

Tommy straightened. “And you can’t drink.”

“I can drink,” I argued. At his look, I specified, “Stout.”

“Drink stout at home. With Ada.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

.+.

A week later, enough snow fell to bury the waist-high shrubs in the front garden. The windows bled white light and a fire raged in every hearth at all hours. Thomas hadn’t been lying—he _did_ always have somewhere to be. I saw him in the early mornings, as he dressed, and late at night, when it was time to sleep.

I’d been staying in his room. As expected.

“ _No,_ ” Ada drawled. “Why would you want to put that in your mouth?”

She pulled Karl away from the centerpiece of flowers, where he’d taken ahold of a handful of tulip petals.

“Because they smell good,” I said, sipping Earl Grey. “Let him.”

“I’ll parent my baby. Thank you.”

Ada could hold a grudge.

“Do you ever regret having him?” I asked.

“Anabel!”

I set my cup down on its saucer. “The question, in itself, isn’t offensive.”

“ _No!_ ” she exclaimed. “Goodness, you’re a weird one.”

“I am, aren’t I? I’d be a weird mother.”

“With a weird baby,” Ada agreed.

“How did you stop being selfish?” I asked, watching her bounce him and keep him distracted from the flowers.

“I was never selfish.”

I scoffed. “Ada. Come now.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You were Small Heath’s princess—”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Lady of Watery Lane. Sovereign and ruler—”

“Shup up.”

“At least until you were sixteen.”

“A baby is an extension of you. Their needs are your needs. Simple,” she said. “I couldn’t be selfish anymore.”

“Didn’t you ever want to go away to school?”

“I was never any good at studying,” Ada said. “All that learning with no direction, no rhyme, no reason. I enjoy reading now, but only because there’s a point.”

“Fuck capitalism, eh?”

“Quite right.”

“But wasn’t there anything else you wanted to do?”

“Plenty of things, Ana, and I will do them.” She brushed back a bit of his wispy brown hair. “When Karl is older.”

I watched her watch him, a subtle gleam in her eyes. _A mother’s love_. That was something you couldn’t deny a person without fucking them up something awful.

“You don’t look as though you regret it,” I said, pensive.

“No. How could I?”

But I could see a myriad of ways. I could see the rings beneath her eyes from lack of sleep. I could see the girl she’d been when _I_ was a girl—selfish, sure, but _vibrant_. A firecracker, like me. I could see she’d been watered down. That was what pregnancy did—watered a woman down. It’s why I could only drink _stout_.

.+.

“Miss Shelby. There’s a Michael Gray here to see you.”

It was close to three o’clock. My brother wouldn’t be home for another several hours yet and Ada was at the Birmingham Zoo with Karl.

“Send him away.”

“He implied there was an urgent matter about which he needed to speak with you,” the maid replied.

I set down my book and sighed.

When we arrived at the foyer, Michael wasn’t there. For a moment, I thought he might’ve gone.

“He’s at the stables. Said you’d know where.”

“Of course,” I said. “Thank you, Adelaide.”

The trek across the west lawn was considerably easier given the temperature the first week of the year. Snow drifts from the storm had melted into slushy puddles of mud. Mostly, blocks of ice remained, which were easy to avoid.

Upon reaching the stables, I patted _hello_ to my favorite fillies and climbed up to the loft. Michael was there, leaning against a wooden beam, smoking.

“Be quick.”

“Because you’re so busy?” he asked, exhaling smoke.

“ _Hmm._ ”

“I need your help.”

“How did I know?”

“I only want one thing. You know what it is.”

“It’s not me, is it?”

“No.” He flicked his cigarette onto the ground and pressed the sole of his Italian leather loafer onto the lit end. “I’ve let that go.”

“Good. I don’t see what else I can do for you.”

“You have Tommy’s ear. And his heart. You can make him do anything.”

My resounding laugh was enough of an answer.

“Ana—”

“I don’t have as much power as you think I do—”

“Then a supportive word will suffice—”

“And what you’re asking is bound to have the opposite effect.”

We stared each other down for a moment before Michael relented. “You’re probably right.”

“I am.”

“What’s this about you being pregnant?”

I walked over to the slat and shook my head.

“So it’s true then? I thought my mother was just being dramatic.” Michael came and knelt by my side. “What’s the plan?”

Right then, I remembered how diligent he’d been in Tommy’s absence. He’d been the one to see me through the dark time. He’d been there every day, exercising the sort of patience and care which ordinarily resulted in friendship. Michael Gray. _My friend_.

“No plan. Simply enduring at this point. Reluctantly.”

“You want to be a mother?”

“No. Not yet.”

“There you have it.”

“It’s more complex than that.”

“Not really.”

“You’re a man. You wouldn’t—”

“Understand? Surely not, but I know _you_. You’re young and angry and you’ve a lot to do before you dedicate your life to anyone else.”

“Says the man who asked me to dedicate my life to him.”

“I never said that.”

“That’s what marriage is, Michael.”

“You have no idea what being married to me is like, Ana.”

“Fair.”

We stared out of the slat onto the field speckled with ice floats and mud pools.

“You’re going to have the procedure, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I suppose I will.”

.+.

When Tommy came into the room, I was sitting on the window sill, my knees pulled up to my chest.

“You’re still awake.”

“I waited,” I said. “Good day?”

“Long day,” he said, pulling off his tie. “Anything interesting happen?”

“No.”

I watched him as he slipped out of his jacket. He walked like a henchman—his arms held out from his body, putting one half forward at a time—over to my perch. Tommy wrapped his forearms around my head and placed a kiss on top of my head.

“And Michael? How was he?”

Of course he knew. He knew everything.

“Michael’s fine. He’s chafing at being ousted from the company, but… He’s fine.”

“What’s wrong, love?” Tommy stroked my hair. “Something doesn’t sound right.”

“I’ve made a decision,” I said.

“What’s that?”

“I’d like to take _another avenue_.” 

Tommy took his arms away and I felt their loss acutely, in my soul.

“You know what you’re doing?”

“No.”

“This your decision?”

“Who else’s?” Turning my head up to stare at him, I couldn’t read his expression. “Is this it? Is this what makes you stop loving me?”

Tommy scooped me up in his arms and took us both to bed. “I’m here to take care of you. I’ll call the doctor. Have him here tomorrow.”

After settling me down onto the sheets, he held my body from behind.

“I’m going to cry,” I said. “Just for a bit… I’m only warning you because I don’t want you to think I’ve changed my mind. I know what I want. It’s just—” My words were cut off by lung-spasming sobs.

“I know, love.” Tommy tucked his chin into the curve of my neck. “Do what you need to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few of you are curious who's going to make the first move between Tommy and Ana. I will say: I'm also curious. Something big was going to happen this chapter, but I decided to postpone. _Good things come to those who wait, etc._ I have a tentative outline for the foreseeable future of this story. Although the relationship will be slow burn, there will be adequate pay off (including smut). Just wanted to let you guys know/warn you. See you next chapter!


	7. Endure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a pretty heavy chapter. Trigger warning (TW) for abortion.

A full moon shone bright the night Dr. Feldman and his nurse road the train down from Cardiff. Tommy suggested we wait three days for the moon to wane. I said I couldn’t spend another night thrashing in and out of dreams.

“Up you get. Just there.” As I settled onto the tabletop, the nurse draped a thin cotton blanket over my bottom half. “I’ll have you spread your legs for me. Yes, good.”

Tommy stood outside the study, speaking in low tones to Dr. Feldman.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Mary,” the nurse said. She had a beauty mark above her lip and a broad smile. “Mary Haverford. Nice to make your acquaintance.”

“I don’t usually spread my legs this soon after meeting someone, Mary, but there’s something I like about you.”

Mary’s laughter didn’t dispel my fears or quiet my rampant mind. Rather, the sound floated atop the dense atmosphere like clouds of smoke, soon to be dispersed by a sudden wind. The wind came in the form of Tommy, followed by Dr. Feldman, entering the room.

“Hello, Anabel. My name is Dr. James Feldman. Your brother has procured my medical services to perform a procedure this evening. Are you aware of the procedure set to take place?”

“Yes.”

“Do you consent to the procedure set to take place?”

“Yes.”

“Are you aware the procedure is irreversible and, in the event you _were_ to change your mind halfway through, I would still be required to finish the procedure to its completion?”

I swallowed. “Yes.”

“Alright, then.”

Dr. Feldman placed his medical bag next to my hips and began pulling on gloves. “First, I will check to see how far along you are. Different stages of gestation require different techniques.”

 _Gestation_. How clinical. “Go right ahead.”

As the doctor lifted the sheet, Tommy went to stand by the fire. He lit himself a cigarette.

“How much does a procedure like this cost, I wonder?”

The doctor’s hands stilled on my thighs. “Excuse me?”

“Ana. Let the man work.”

“I’m curious,” I said, staring up at the fine cracks in the painted ceiling. “I don’t imagine I’ll be curious about much of anything when this is done.”

Tommy didn’t say anything in response.

Dr. Feldman cleared his throat and answered: “I don’t usually make house calls.”

“The women come to you?”

“Usually, yes.”

“This’ll be extra then. Tell me… How much do you charge women for this service?”

“Well, that depends on a number of factors. How far along they are. Their circumstances…”

I winced as he probed my entrance. “It’ll be extra for us again. What’s the base price for a woman from, say, Small Heath?”

Dr. Feldman hummed as he rooted around. “Say, three months?”

“Say three months.”

“Seventy-five pounds.”

The tiny room was quiet for a moment.

“ _Seventy-five pounds?_ ” I asked.

“I am extremely skilled at what I do. I am discreet, as well—”

“What woman in Small Heath who’s in need of terminating a pregnancy has _seventy-five pounds_?”

“I must also account for the personal risk to my person, given the _illegality_ of this particular procedure. I must also adequately compensate my nurse.”

“So that’s seventy-five pounds, plus travel, plus a little something extra given our _circumstances_. What does that bring our total to?”

“Move on,” said Tommy.

“I want to know. What? A hundred pounds? _More?_ ”

“I said _move on_.”

“Why is that a bad question?” I pressed. “Is it more?”

Thomas flicked his cigarette into the fire and came to stand near my head. “You’re nervous.”

“I’m _not_. I’m just asking questions—”

“Which is what you do when you’re nervous.” He leaned over until his face was only a few inches from mine. “Do you want to stop?”

“No,” I whispered.

“Because if you want to stop, all you have to do is say the word.”

“What word is that?”

He suppressed a smile. “ _Stop._ ”

“I don’t want to stop. I want to keep going.”

“Will you allow the doctor to work?”

“I’ll shut up.”

He placed a quick kiss on my head. “Two hundred pounds.”

“ _Two hundred—_ ”

“Carry on,” Tommy said, with a wave to the doctor.

“Yes, sir.”

Mary administered a tablespoon of bitter liquid, which sank into my bones.

“What is _this?_ ” I blathered.

“Morphine,” she said, brushing my hair with the backside of her hand.

“I’ve never felt this nice.”

“Don’t get used to it, love.” Tommy stayed by my side. His eyes were sharp, like the wild hawk, watching.

“You’re going to feel pressure. _Dull_ pressure. Light, at first, then it’ll build steadily. Take a deep breath for me,” Feldman said.

I filled my lungs and, for some reason, bore down.

“Good.”

The pressure came, just as he’d said. Light, at first. Then _more_ and _more_. My head lolled to one side. I closed my eyes.

“Polly’s going to be pissed,” I gritted through clenched teeth.

“Don’t worry about Pol.”

“ _Ouch._ ” 

When I opened my eyes again, Tommy was there, kneeling. He was a vision—an undulating illusion, dark and alluring, backlit by the fire.

“I’m here.”

“It hurts,” I said. 

“Who are you?”

“What?”

“What’s your name?”

“Anabel Shelby.”

Tommy cocked his head. “Didn’t catch that.”

I bit down hard on my cheek. “Anabel _fucking_ Shelby.”

“That’s right.” He grabbed one of my hands and squeezed. “Strong as an ox. Stubborn as a mule.”

“Nearly finished,” Feldman said.

“Keep breathing, dear.” Mary was still stroking my hair.

“Ow. Ow. _Ow_ …” My resolve—what little I’d had—broke. A warm tear slipped from the corner of my eye and tracked a trail down the side of my face. Tommy kept silent and I was glad. There was nothing else to be said. Only a matter of trudging on.

Before I knew what was what, Dr. Feldman was wrapping his tools in a white towel and tearing off his gloves. “She was only six weeks. Relatively easy procedure. There should be some residual bleeding. Not too much. Anything more than two tablespoons a day for the next two weeks and she should be taken to the hospital. Naturally, I ask my name be left out—”

“Do I look like a man who tells people things?” Tommy stood up.

Dr. Feldman wavered, unsure whether to answer. “No…”

“Your services are appreciated.” Thomas held out a hand toward the door. “You’ll find the way out is identical to the way in.”

Mary finished cleaning the utensils and, with a polite wave, said: “Goodbye, Anabel. It was nice to meet you.”

I was half asleep, but managed to wave back.

“She’ll have trouble walking for a day or two. You might want to keep her in a room downstairs.” Dr. Feldman plopped a wide-brimmed hat onto his head and left with Mary.

My body was hoisted into the air. I couldn’t even feel Tommy’s arms. It was as though I were levitating.

“It’s done now,” he said, as we entered the dark hallway. “You’ve done good, Bellflower. You’ve done good.”

.+.

The door to the guest room opened with a creak.

“Ana?”

“ _Get out._ ” My throat was raw from not speaking.

“Smells dreadful in here,” said Ada. “Tommy told me not to bother you, but… It’s been three days. Surely you’ve recovered from your cold by now.”

“Ada, _leave._ ” I couldn’t flip over onto my back. The only position which provided a modicum of comfort was curled up on my side—the fetal position, ironically. Tommy had cut off my supply of morphine the day before and I was left with only my aches.

“You should move around. Blood flow will do you good—”

“Shut the _fuck_ up and get the _fuck_ out of my _fucking_ room, Ada.”

Wherever she was in the space, she went still. “Anabel.”

“I’m serious.” My eyes were leaking, but I wasn’t crying. I wasn’t crying. I wasn’t…

“What’s wrong?” Ada’s slender body draped itself across mine. “What’s happened?”

“I can’t… I can’t. I’m too tired.”

Ada squeezed—a bit too tight, but I couldn’t complain—and said: “Whatever it is, it’s alright.”

“No.” I shook my head. “It’s not.”

.+.

Arthur barged into Tommy’s office brandishing his pistol. “ _What the fuck is going on in ‘ere?_ ”

Tommy removed his monocle and set down the ledger he’d been reading. “Nothing.”

“Ada’s called a family meeting.” His brother allowed his arm to drop. “Said it was an emergency.”

“What the fuck is going on—?” John yelled, pushing past Arthur.

“Quit messing around.” Arthur cuffed him on the back of his head and tucked his pistol into its leather holster. “Come on. Everyone’s in the big room.”

“Everyone?” Tommy rose from his seat.

“ _The family_ , Tom. Polly. Me. Michael. John.”

“She didn’t call Lizzie,” John noted.

“Lizzie ain’t family.”

“You should say John then Michael. I’m older.”

“But you’re also _thicker._ ”

“Not so thick as _you_.” John roped his arm around Arthur’s neck and pulled him into his chest.

“Eh! Out of here. I’m coming,” said Tommy.

Before they’d even reached the reception room, he could hear shouting.

“Is she _dying?_ ”

“No, Pol, but—”

“Then it’s not an emergency, Ada! Don’t ring and say, _Come quick, it’s an emergency_. Nearly lost my head and then my life trying to hightail over here.”

Rounding the edge of the arched entryway, Tommy beheld what remained of his family. “You’ve called a meeting, Ada? At my house?”

“I’m currently living here. So, in a sense, it is _our_ house,” she said.

“In a sense, you’re full of shit.” He took a seat in the high-back, brown chair and held out his hands. “What’s this about, then? Another referendum on union breaking and wage labour?”

“Fuck off,” she said, rolling her eyes. “This about our Ana.”

Thomas took out his silver cigarette case. “What about our Ana?”

“She’s been confined to a bed for a week. She can barely move, even to go to the restroom or bathe. It’s not normal. She refuses to speak to me—or _anyone_ as far as I can tell—and refuses to see a doctor.” Ada went around the room and met everyone’s eye. “She needs help.”

“Well, what’s happened to her?” Arthur asked. Leaned against the wall, he looked like a wonky coat rack.

“She sick or _sum’in_?” John asked.

“She’s fine.” Tommy lit the tip of his cigarette. “She’s fine, Ada.”

“She doesn’t _seem_ fine, Tommy.”

“That’s because she’s had an operation.” Polly was stood by the window with her arms crossed. “Hasn’t she?”

Tommy kept on smoking.

“What operation?” Arthur asked.

“ _Oh,_ ” said John. “One of those… Who the _fuck_ got our Ana pregnant?”

“Some boxer bloke from King’s Heath.” At a glance from Tommy, Michael cleared his throat and threw back his shoulders. “Fucking tosser.”

“Have we spoken to this tosser from King’s Heath yet? ‘Cause I’m thinking I’d like to have _a word._ ” John went to work grinding his teeth on a wooden toothpick and cracking his knuckles.

“Ana went to warn him and he’s been MIA since Christmas,” said Tommy.

“E’ll be back,” said Arthur.

“ _Hello!_ ” Ada shouted. “Are we forgetting the reason for this meeting? _Your sister? Ana?_ ”

“No one’s forgotten, Ada. She’ll be fine. Just give her time.” Tommy flicked off a bit of ash. 

“You _imbecile_ ,” Polly muttered. “You know nothing.”

“She’s my sister—”

“And you would smother her before you let anyone else close to her.” Polly’s head whipped around in his direction. “Am I wrong?”

Tommy allowed the smoke swelling in his lungs to drift out of his nose. “What do you suggest I do?”

“We need to rally,” she said, sweeping through the room in her floor-length black chiffon dress. “It’s a perilous time for her. She shouldn’t be alone.”

“We can take turns,” Michael said. “Sitting with her.”

Tommy stubbed out his cigarette.

“I don’t think you’ll be needed in that regard, Michael.” Polly placed a tentative hand on his shoulder. “But that is a good idea.”

“How long do we _sit with her_?” Arthur asked, scratching his head.

“Until she’s strong enough to seek out company on her own,” said Polly. “The fear is that she’ll slip into a dark night of the soul and become unreachable. We’ve all endured Anabel at her worst…” Polly’s gaze flickered to the back of Tommy’s head. “But this’ll be something different.”

“Who’s first?” Ada asked.

“I’d volunteer, but it seems I’m not allowed…” said Michael.

“I’ll go.” John shoved his hands into his pockets and sniffled.

“Be gentle.” Polly went over and plucked the toothpick from his lips. “Like you would with a newborn babe.”

John’s grin was lopsided. “Anabel ain’t never responded to gentle, Aunt Pol. Don’t worry,” he implored, already backing out of the room. “I’ll make her laugh.”

.+.

I could tell it was John by the way he knocked. More like _beating_ , with a closed fist. He slunk into my temporary living space with a self-amused smile on his face.

“What are you doing here?”

“I was in the _area_. Thought I’d say _hello_.” He took the seat by my bed. “Heard you underwent a bit of a doozy… Happens to the best of us.”

“Oh, John, don’t.”

“You made the right decision.”

I ran a hand over my face and sighed. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” John’s voice took on a grave note. “You don’t want to be like me, An. I love me kids, but— _fuck._ ”

My hand came down to rest over my mouth.

“Eh? _What’s that?_ ” he shouted, leaning forward in his chair. “Was that a fucking smile?”

“No.”

“ _Yeah_ , it was. Can’t lie to me. I know you, girl.”

I turned over onto my side and pulled the covers up to my chin. “What? Are you planning to fucking move in? Go home to your kids before they burn your house down.”

John sprang up from his chair and took my head into his hands.

“John!”

“Buck up, eh? You’re _Bloody Bellflower_.” He placed a wet, sloppy kiss on my forehead. “Love you, kid.”

“ _Ugh._ ” If I’d had the energy, I would’ve push him off. “Love you, too.”

.+.

“That was quick,” Polly said.

“What can say?” John asked, swaggering back into the reception room. “I work fast.”

“Arthur, you’re next.”

“ _What?_ ” The eldest Shelby looked up suddenly, his eyes wide. “I’m not finished.”

“With what?” Ada asked.

“Thinking of what I’m gonna say.”

Polly pushed him out of the room. “You’ll just have to speak from the heart then.”

.+.

“Ana? You in there?”

The door cracked open and Arthur stuck his head inside.

“You’re here as well?” I said.

“Oh, you know.” He shuffled inside. “I just come by to see how you’s all is doing. Out ‘ere. By your lonesome…” He hesitated by the door. Kept putting his hands behind his back and then bringing them to his front, as though he couldn’t decide where to keep them.

“Who else is here?” I asked.

“Who else is here?” Arthur parroted. “Well, let’s see. There’s John… John’s here.”

“Yes, I know John is here. Who else is here?”

“Who else…? Well, as you know, Tommy is here… And Ada.”

“Oh my fucking— _Is everyone here, Arthur?_ ”

He lowered his head and nodded. “Yeah…”

I sighed. “For me?”

He finally came over and sat by my bed. “Ada called a family meeting, is the thing.”

Of course she did. Of course she _fucking_ did. “Say your peace and then leave. I want to sleep.”

Arthur cleared his throat. “Anabel—Little Ana—my baby sister. I… I want you to know that you are not alone.”

I could’ve laughed at how stilted and formal he sounded—like he was reading from a book—but that would’ve been cruel. Even in my altered state, I could see how that would’ve been cruel. The man was close to tears.

“And—I want you to know no one is judging you or _casting aspersions_. And if they did, I would cut their _fucking_ eyes out of their _fucking_ skulls.”

“Thank you, Arthur. I appreciate that.”

“Wanna hear a secret?”

I turned onto my back and winced. “Alright.”

“Don’t tell no one, but… John’s gettin’ married next week. It’ll be good for him. And we’ll need you there, throwing flowers.”

I closed my eyes. “Could you do me a favor, Arthur?”

“Anything, Little Ana.”

.+.

“That’s it,” Arthur said, as he reentered the reception room. “No more visitors for our Ana today.”

“Oh, you’ve decided, have you?” Ada asked, setting down the manifesto she’d been reading.

“She needs rest now.” He glanced around. “Where’s John gone?”

“He went home,” said Michael.

“That fucker was _my ride_.”

“Simmer down, Arthur. You can borrow one of the Bentley’s,” Tommy said. “Have one of the staff juice it up for you and drop it off tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Tom.” Arthur pulled his cap from the pocket of his coat and slapped it onto his head. “I think she’ll be alright.”

“’Course she will. Go on, Arthur. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

As he left, Polly lit up one of her cigarettes. “I’m staying.”

“Me too,” said Michael.

“Polly can stay.” Tommy picked himself up from the high-back, brown chair. “Michael, go home.”

“She needs _all of us_ ,” Michael protested. “Including me.”

Polly tugged on the sleeve of his suit jacket. “Now is not the time.”

“No.” He ripped himself away from her grip and moved to block Tommy’s exit. The two men stared each other down. “I have nothing to lose. He’s already kicked me out of the company. What if there was something I could say—something no one else could—which would bring her out of this? Are you sure you want to send me away?”

“What would you say, _hmm_? If you have the magic words, I’d love to hear them Michael.” Tommy waited a beat. “And I’d love to know why you didn’t say them before.”

“Before?”

“When you met Ana at the stables and convinced her to have the operation.”

Michael drew back. “ _I didn’t—_ ”

“Learn this—there are no coincidences. There are only odds.” Tommy licked his chapped lips and held back a violently electric part of himself. “What are the odds, after two weeks, Ana decides to have the operation the same day she meets with you?”

“I only told her to do what she already wanted to do.” Michael was breathing hard, affronted by the implication in Tommy’s words.

“And now she has to live with the consequences. As do you.” Tommy sidestepped him. “You’ll want to be running after Arthur. Perhaps he’ll take you home.”

.+.

The dreams were something terrible. Explosions. Blood on teeth. Water in lungs. I woke up to sheets wet with sweat, my hair sticking to my face. Taken by a sudden burst of energy, I rolled out of bed, onto my feet and staggered to the door.

There was a bar cart in Tommy’s office, but the one in the reception room was closer.

Sharp, stabbing pain shot through my uterus with every step. Was this how I was meant feel or was I being punished?

Upon reaching the bar cart, I uncorked the first thing my hands touched and began chugging. Burning liquid set my blood on fire. Could’ve been rum, or gin, or bourbon, or whiskey, for all I knew.

My body slumped over onto the nearest chair. This burgeoning drunkenness wasn’t half as nice as the morphine high, so I kept drinking. Three-fourths of the entire bottle. Until I couldn’t feel my toes or piece together a coherent thought or hear footsteps coming down the hall.

“ _Oh!_ ” There was a surprised yelp and then the sound of someone running away.

 _Good_ , I thought. _Leave me here._

But then there were more footsteps. Heavier, this time. And his voice, saying: “Ana.”

Quickly, I brought the bottle to my lips. I’d nearly finished the last dregs when the glass was ripped from my hand. Blinking my bleary eyes, I beheld my brother looming over me.

“ _Tommy._ ” My voice was the verbal equivalent of a tire mark on the road.

“What are you doing?” He sounded almost polite.

“Don’t know,” I said. “Just want it to stop… Just… want the dreams to stop…”

“Go.” The politeness was gone, replaced by a perfunctoriness which was his routine when speaking to staff. “Round up the alcohol—all the booze, everywhere—all the razors and all the pills, too. Anything that could be used to end a fucking life, I want out of ‘ere.”

Giggles were bubbling out of my throat before I knew I’d found what he said funny. “I’m not trying to die, Tom…”

“Even if you were, I wouldn’t let ya.”

I felt his hands reaching for my armpits and slapped them away. “Don’t touch me.”

“ _Ana._ ”

“Don’t _fucking_ touch me, Tommy… I don’t want to go back to bed.”

“You’re bleeding.”

My head slumped onto my chest as I stared down at my crotch. He was right. I _was_ bleeding.

“Serves me right.” Took considerable effort, but I brought my head back up to look at him. “This is my fault… You wanted an answer… Why I couldn’t… go anywhere… without beating a man… fucking a man… making a man fall in love with me?” I swallowed the pit in my throat and disregarded the wetness on my face. “Well, I can tell you… I took pleasure in beating Mister… _whatever the fuck his name was_ … And I told Eton to _fuck me_ … Kissed Michael, too…” I said. “It’s all my fault. Everything.”

“If we all got what we deserved, Ana, I’d be dead in a fucking field somewhere.” Tommy’s face was a blur. “You’re gonna live past this, love. One day, in the future, this’ll be just another memory.”

“Why can’t it be like that now?”

“Wound’s fresh.” His hands returned and this time I didn’t slap them away. They hoisted me up until I was almost standing. “Needs time.”

Step by step, we worked our way to the bathing room. Tommy set me down onto the loo and turned on the tap. The sound of the tub filling was louder than a train _roaring_ down tracks. Soon enough, the room was filled with steam. His hands returned. Standing me up. Undressing me. Lowering me into the water.

My head fell back against the porcelain rim and I sank into a semi-comatose state. This was the best my body and mind had felt in days. There was only warmth…

“ _Sweetest Anabel, like the roses in June, I hope she’ll smile soon. My sweetest, sweetest Anabel._ ”

“You sound… _terrible_ ,” I drawled.

He splashed a touch of water onto my face.

“Stop. I can’t defend myself.”

“Sing,” he said.

“No.”

“Sing for me, love.”

“Absolutely… not.”

“I’m not helping you out of this tub until you sing.”

“Always blackmail with you…” I bit my lip to think. “What should I sing?”

“Tell Me Little Gypsy.”

“So predictable… How’s it go again?”

“ _Tell me, little Gypsy, what the future holds for me?_ ”

“ _Tell me little Gypsy, what the future holds for me? Kindly cross my palm with silver and I'll try and see. Tell me is there someone in the days that are to be. There's a boy for ev'ry girl in the world. There must be someone for me_.”

“Atta girl.” He took a bar of soap into his hands and lathered up. “Keep singing.”

As I intermittently hummed and sang the folksy tune, Tommy ran the pads of his fingers along my scalp and down through my dark hair. Then, when he was done, he took a cup from the sink and poured hot water over my head.

He helped me stand, wrapped my pruned body in a thick towel and—once again—carried me to bed. This time, however, he bypassed my temporary room and went right up the stairs.

“You sleep with me,” he said. “I’ll keep the dreams away.”

I was dead to the world before he’d even set me down onto his sheets.

.+.

When I awoke, Thomas was gone. Polly sat at a recently erected tea table beside the bed, buttering two scones with practiced precision.

“Good morning,” she said.

“Morning, Pol. Where’s Tommy?”

“He’s gone to work. You’ve been left in my care, just as you should’ve been.” Polly picked up the tray with breakfast on top. “Now, sit up. You’ll need to eat at regular intervals.”

I gasped during my first attempt. The pain was fierce.

“You’re hurt,” she said. “But you can’t let up. Try again.”

My second attempt succeeded and she placed the tray onto my lap. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Polly went back and sat at the tea table. She took up a newspaper and began scanning the contents.

“You’re not upset.”

“I _am_ upset.”

“But not with me.”

“No. Why would I be?”

“You were looking forward to a baby.” My eyes flitted up to the ceiling. “And, your God—”

“ _Our_ God.”

“ _Your_ God says I’m going to Hell.”

Polly set down her newspaper. “We’re all the going to Hell, Ana. All of us.”

“Well, then. At least I’ll have company.”

“I’m not upset with you love. I’m upset with Thomas for attempting to keep this entire affair clandestine and for not anticipating your various needs.”

“He’s done alright.”

“Not well enough. Not well enough by far.”

“How could he anticipate? He’s a man.”

“Which is why he should’ve asked for a woman’s advice.”

“And how could you anticipate? You’ve never—”

“I _have_ ,” she said. “I _did_.”

I went still. “When?”

“When I was sixteen. I didn’t _dare_ tell anyone… In the end, I did it myself. _To myself._ And I almost died.”

Pinching my eyes shut, I said: “I always forget you lived a whole life before I knew you.”

“You and everyone else.”

“What do I do, Pol?”

Her large brown eyes were waiting when I finally opened mine.

“ _Endure._ ” Her lips quivered with a small smile. “That’s all there is to it, love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is when things start to become dicey. Lines are crossed... Well, you'll see. John's wedding!


	8. Fucking Shelby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things get intense. Be forewarned.

“He still doesn’t know?”

Polly wrapped a spoonful of cabbage in a square of flour-dusted phyllo dough. “ _Oblivious._ ”

“When is John _not_ oblivious?” Ada asked.

We were sat ‘round the kitchen at Watery Lane, preparing the starters for John’s wedding tomorrow. By hand, as tradition dictated.

My bowl of wheat grain was nearly full. “Ten pounds says he runs.”

“He better not,” said Polly. “We’re depending on this marriage to make peace with the Lee family.”

“He won’t run.” Ada shook her head and offered Karl a finger full of blackberry jam. “He needs a wife.”

“He needs a wife like I need a hole in me head.” Like a sprite, Finn appeared and swiped a rhubarb pastry before Polly could clock him.

“Where did you learn that?” I asked.

“Heard Michael say it.”

“Michael shouldn’t be speaking about marriage,” I said, avoiding Polly’s eyeline. “And you shouldn’t be repeating him, ‘less you want a quick smack.”

“Don’t see a problem with what ‘e said—”

“Take yourself away from this kitchen—”

“I’m hungry—”

“Before I chase you out—”

“It’s nearly six o’clock!”

“ _With a broom_.” 

At my rising from my chair, Finn sprinted out of the door, pastry in hand. I wouldn’t have had the energy to chase him, but he didn’t know anything about that…

“So that’s you down for ten pounds, Ada?”

“What?” she asked, tearing her attention away from her son.

“You think John _won’t_ make a break for the hills. I think he _will._ Ten pounds?” 

“I don’t gamble, Ana.” She’d donned her judgmental face.

“Only uncertain people don’t gamble,” I said. “Are you uncertain?”

“That’s _ridiculous_ —”

“She’s winding you up, Ada.” Tommy stood in the narrow doorway, observing our preparations with casual disinterest, adjusting his tie. He was dressed to the nines. “Trying to get you invested.”

“I _know_ what she’s doing. I’m not an idiot,” Ada scoffed. “Where are you going?” She leaned back in her chair, appraising him. “Dressed like that?”

“Like what?” Tommy asked, running his fingers around the cuffs of his shirt.

“Like you’re an honest man,” I specified.

“I am an honest man, love.”

“An honest criminal, sure.” My eyes roved him—from his neat hair to his shining shoes. “You look nice.”

He met my gaze, said nothing.

“Where _are_ you going?” I asked.

Tommy pointed to the food. “When’s this business finished?”

“When it’s finished and not a moment before,” said Polly. Instead of looking at him, she kept her focus on the _sarmale_ , working quickly to stuff each roll. “Go. Have your _meeting_.”

“A car will drop by at midnight to take them back to the house.” Tommy pulled on his cap. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Where are you going?” This time I wasn’t so much curious as _adamant_. “Ignore me again and I’ll hop in the car with you.”

“I have business.” He ambled over and placed a kiss on my forehead.

“Business which takes all night?”

Polly huffed a laugh. “Not likely.”

“ _Pol._ ”

“You’re the one dawdling,” she said. “Just go.”

He made for the door.

“You’re really not going to tell me?”

Tommy pointed his finger at our aunt. “You say a word and—”

“You’ll what? Cut me?” Polly asked, lifting a single, arched brow. After a prolonged moment, during which they seemed to reach an agreement, she said: “ _Go._ ”

And he left.

.+.

Polly had begun chopping onions and I’d vacated the kitchen citing fumes as my excuse. It was nearing seven. Perhaps she’d still be there…

Pushing open the false doors, I entered a darkened betting shop. The chalk boards had been wiped clean. There was no loose change littering the desks. At the very end of the shop, just outside of Tommy’s office, a yellow lamp shone.

“Lizzie?” I said, rounding the corner.

“ _Oh!_ ” she exclaimed, dropping her ink pen. “You scared me!”

“You didn’t hear my footsteps?” There was a grimy grin eating up my face. “I’ve been told I have a heavy tread.”

“No, no. I was off in me own world. Again…” She glanced around the shop. “Goodness. What time is it?”

“About seven. Shouldn’t you be home by now?”

“I’m supposed to leave at five. Which means on a good day I leave at six. And on bad days—”

“You leave when the work is done.”

“Right.” Lizzie lifted her delicate nose and sniffed. “You smell of cardamom.”

“We’re baking for John’s wedding in there. You should come join us, if you’re not too tired.”

“That’d be nice.” Her eyes took on a distant look. “There’s no one waiting for me at my flat, so…”

“We’re here, if you’ll have us.”

She smiled.

“I meant to ask…” I said, coming to stand by the edge of her desk. “Where is Tommy? He left in such a rush, he forgot to say where I’m supposed to call him. To let him know whether I want to be taken home or stay here tonight…”

“ _Men._ ” Lizzie nearly spat. “Neglecting you to go be with that woman…” Her face had scrunched into an unattractive diminutive of itself. “One second, love.”

_That woman_. _That woman_. “What woman?” I asked, as Lizzie flipped through her date book.

“The blonde-headed barmaid is back in town. Visiting from _America_ ,” she mocked. “How wonderful.”

I inhaled deeply through my nose.

“Here we are,” she said, pointing to a spot on the page. I followed her finger and found an ink star there. “He’s at The Jamison Hotel on Westbury. Room 33.”

_Click_. Everything fell into place.

“Alright, then.” I nodded. “Thank you, Lizzie. I appreciate this.”

“I think I _will_ join you.” She stood, grabbed her coat and scarf from the chair back. “Better than going home.”

“My mistake. I forgot only female relatives are allowed to cook for a Romani wedding.” Turning to leave, I shrugged a single shoulder. “Tradition.”

“Oh… Oh, well, that’s fine.” She laughed to herself. “Guess home it is.”

“Be safe, will you?”

.+.

As the driver held open the door, I stood on the porch with my arms crossed. “I’m not going.”

“Why are you making such a fuss?” Ada repositioned a sleeping Karl onto her other arm. “We’ll be back in the morning. Bright and early.”

Finn passed by my side. “Are you not coming?” he asked.

“No. Go on with Ada.” I tossed my fingers through his red hair. “Go on, Finn.”

“ _Ana_. Polly’s gone home.”

“ _Ada._ I’ve been by myself before.”

“Tommy said—”

“Tommy doesn’t need you to be his mouthpiece. Or his parrot.”

“You wanna stay here?” Ada threw up her free hand. “I can’t be bothered. We’re leaving.”

.+.

Instead of calling The Jamison Hotel—Room 33—I hung a white tea towel from my bedroom window and waited. No doubt the boys had taken John to The Garrison for what was, unbeknownst to him, his last night of freedom. No doubt _he_ would have to walk down Watery Lane in order to turn onto the street where Polly lived. There was some doubt in my mind as to whether he would take up my offer…

_Knock. Knock._

Sure enough, he did.

As soon as I opened the door, I knew he was drunk. Leaning one hand against the frame, the other hung limp at his side.

“Truce?” I asked, staring into his glassy eyes.

Michael swallowed. “Not until I say my piece.”

I stepped out of the way and he staggered inside.

“I’m going to make you some tea.”

“Don’t want tea.”

“You need tea.” He followed me into the kitchen. “Drunk as you are, your piece might well end up coming out in pieces.”

“Every woman wants to be my mother, eh?”

“You won’t let your mother be your mother, so you seek out women who give you the same feeling.” I placed the kettle atop the stove and switched on the heat. “Deep down, you want someone to tell you you’re just a boy. _Sit there. Be good._ _Let me take care of you_.”

His arms wrapped around my waist from behind. “Would you? Take care of me?”

“Michael…”

“ _Hmm?_ ” He buried his face into my neck. “I’m sorry.”

I swallowed. “For?”

“Should’ve pushed harder to be there for you… While you were recovering… I wanted to be the first to sit with you.”

“But Tommy wouldn’t let you?”

“Should’ve found a way…”

How wrong and convoluted. He was at a hotel right then, fucking Grace, presumably. He ruled over a world of business and he over ruled _us_ , too. In his spare time, with his spare energy, which wasn’t much. But then, he didn’t need much to keep us in line, listening to his every word.

“Is that all you wanted to say?”

The kettle began to whistle lowly.

“No. Turn around.” His hands rotated my body until our faces were mere inches apart. “I don’t care.”

“About?”

“ _Anything,_ ” he whispered. “I have nothing. No job. No woman.”

“You have your wits.”

“My wits ain’t sharp if they can’t figure out a way to get me what I want.”

“You have your health.”

“Only a matter of time…” He leaned forward and brushed his nose against mine. “Until Tommy gets me.”

“He would never—” _Kill family_ , I’d been about to say, but I didn’t even want to put words to the thought. Polly’s dream lingered on the outskirts of my mind, searching for a way in.

“He would,” said Michael. “And maybe he should. Because _I don’t care_.” 

Just then, he leaned further in and placed his lips onto my lips. I was a passive participant, for once. Experiencing. Succumbing. _One. Two. Three_. I thought he would pull back, but he didn’t. Rather, he pressed our bodies closer together.

“M—Michael,” I tried to say.

“ _Hmm?_ ” 

“The—the kettle.” Snatching my lips away from his and spinning around, I removed the screaming pot from the stovetop. “Sit,” I said. “Over there.” _Be good. Let me take care of you_.

As I gathered a mug and teabag, I heard a wooden chair _scrape_ against the floor, then _squeak_ with his weight.

“Do you want to stay alive or do you want to die?” I asked, pouring the steaming hot water. “It’s not a trick question.”

“Want to live. Obviously,” he grunted.

“Then you _do_ care.” Venturing over to the table, I set the cup of tea down in front of him. “Though, if staying alive is your intention, you often act contrary to your own interest.”

“Did you feel anything? Just now? Or the time before, in the church?”

“Drink your tea.”

“ _Ana_.”

“I felt that you desired me very much,” I said. “Which was nice.”

“Anything else?” He didn’t sound disheartened by my answer. His eyes worked double-time scanning my face. “Anything at all?”

“You tasted good. Not just now—you’ve been drinking—but in the church. You tasted like… Like you’d eaten an apple recently.”

Michael stared for a long time without blinking.

“Can I sleep here tonight?” he asked, finally.

I pursed my lips. “Definitely not.”

“Why?”

“Polly can’t sleep, Michael. You know this. As well, the family will be by early tomorrow.”

“I’m a grown man. Polly will need to be getting used to my being out all night. I can leave before sunrise, be back in my bed before she even wakes up.”

“Drink your tea.”

This time, he listened. Michael brought the tea to his lips, his eyes never wavering from my face.

“What would we do?”

“Just sleep.”

“You don’t really want to stay alive, do you?”

Michael smiled. “Let’s go,” he said, pushing back his chair and holding out his hand.

There was only one reason I took hold of his hand. One reason I could never tell him:

_Spite._

It’s why I’d hung the white flag. It’s why I’d allowed him to kiss me with impunity. I was being spiteful.

I couldn’t stop.

.+.

He was shorter than my brother. Broader, too. Even in my sleep, I could sense the difference. He kept his hand on my thigh, whereas Tommy always rested his hand on my stomach. Small, irrevocable things.

“ _Wake up._ ”

Michael went stiff behind my back. Several seconds passed before I regained consciousness. At which point, my eyes popped open. At the end of my bed, a black shadow loomed. Pale light from the window illuminated the barest edge of his cheekbone, the tip of his ear, the silver chain hung around his neck.

“Tommy?” Part of me was hoping this was only a dream.

“ _Stand up._ ”

Michael scrambled out of bed. In only his pants, he seemed not to know what to do. I stood as well. I was wearing my shift, which Tommy had seen a thousand times, but I’d never been more acutely aware of my nipples poking through the satin fabric.

“You’re John’s best man, Michael. Have you written your speech yet?”

Michael blinked. “It’s—it’s nearly done.”

“It’s five. We pick John up at ten-thirty,” Tommy said. “Go finish.”

He spoke congenially, with a concurrent of firmness. As though Michael had a choice in the matter and the other choice was grave bodily harm.

I grabbed Michael’s shirt from the floor. “Come here.”

Holding out the shirt as he placed his arms through one at a time, I then proceeded with practiced patience to button as many of his buttons as I could. Until he said: “Ana.”

Leaning forward, I brushed my lips against his. Barely a kiss. When I leaned back, his eyes were wide. Perhaps his drunk talk had been just that… Perhaps the _thought_ of defying Tommy was more appealing than the _act_ … “I’ll see you later.”

Michael skirted the edge of the room to reach the door, then disappeared.

“How was your night?” I sank back onto the bed. “With Grace?”

He said nothing. Simply stalked his way around the bed to stand over me.

“How was she?” I asked. “Good?”

Tommy reached out and wrapped one of his hands around my throat. Though his grip was as light as spider’s silk, my flow of breath halted. 

“What are you doing, Ana?” He pressed gently and my torso fell backwards onto the bed. Moving to bend over my prone body, his knee came up to rest beside my hip.

“Living free.”

“Playing games which will end with someone being killed.”

“Michael dies if he sleeps in my bed?” I questioned. “What happens to you, then? _Huh?_ What happens to Grace?”

“I made myself clear on Christmas Eve—”

“Who’s allowed in my bed, Thomas? Just you?”

“Yes.”

I hadn’t been expecting him to answer. “Who’s allowed in yours?”

Tommy squeezed tighter, reflexively.

“Did you fuck her?”

His eyes were whorls of arctic sea water. “ _Yes._ ”

My brain switched off. Without another second’s thought, I was clawing at the arm which held my neck. Swatting at his face and chest. “ _Get off me!_ ”

“ _Ana._ ” Tommy removed his hand from around my throat to wrangle my hands. As soon as my legs came up off the bed, he was pressing his entire body’s weight down onto mine.

“Get the _fuck_ off of me. _Fuck!_ ”

“This what you want?” He pushed my wrists into the mattress. “ _Eh?_ ”

“Fucking _bastard!_ ”

“If I’m a bastard, you’re a bastard, love.”

A charged moment passed wherein only the sound of our breathing kept time. My insides were _wrecked_. The area around my heart was _raw_ for reasons I couldn’t comprehend nor say aloud…

“ _Fuck—_ ” There were tears in my eyes.

“What’s eating you?”

“You are! You’re—”

“ _Speak._ ”

“ _Mine_ ,” I said. “You’re mine, Thomas.”

One of his knees slipped between my thighs. “S’ that so?”

A groan issued from the back of my throat and my body strained beneath his grip. “What are you doing?”

“Had a good night. Drank whiskey in a nice hotel. Lit a fire.” His mouth trailed across the skin of my cheek. “She’s married to a banker from New York. They’re very happy together.”

“I don’t want to hear this.”

“Too bad.” Tommy caught my earlobe between his teeth. “We made innocent for a while, like we were just old friends catching up. Then a moment came—I’d just been about to leave—when she got this look in her eye.” He leaned back over my face.

“Which look is that?”

“The same one you’ve got now.” His knee pressed into my crotch. “ _I’d let you do anything you want to me._ ” 

“Oh, I’m letting you pin my arms down, am I?”

At that, Tommy released his grip. He stayed leaning over me, but I wasn’t trapped anymore. I could’ve bolted or pushed him off. Instead, I said: “That must’ve made you excited.”

“Women look at me like that all the time, love.”

“But _Grace?_ ” Cocking my head to the side, I examined him. “She made a fool out of you, Tommy. Spun you a web of lies and made you lie in it like a _fucking_ _rube_. But now she’s back and she wants you more than her New York banker husband. That must’ve made you excited.” My eyes flitted down to where our bodies met; where his hardness was pressing against my stomach. “As you are now.”

“She’s not back. She sails home today.”

“How sad,” I muttered. “Hope you gave her the best dicking of her life.”

“As a matter of principle, I did.” His thumbs were rubbing the sensitive skin of my wrists. “We fucked for hours. Hard, fast. Soft, slow.”

“You’re mental,” I said. “ _Fucking deranged_.”

“Is that why you’re making do on my leg?”

My hips stilled. I hadn’t realized I’d been quietly rubbing myself against him.

“Use me,” he said. “I’m here.”

_How many different ways could he say the same two words?_

“Get off me. This is wrong.”

“As wrong as you shacking up with Michael when I come home?”

“Michael is—”

“Did you have sex with him?”

There was a metallic edge to his tone. He wouldn’t be half as amused if I went on a similar diatribe about my night with Michael. Not that there was anything to tell, but…

“What if I did?”

“Did you?”

One wrong word and Michael could lose his life. In my mind, I heard him saying he didn’t want to die.

“No.”

Tommy pulled himself off of me. At the same time, we heard the front door beneath my window open.

“ _’Ello?_ ” Ada yelled. “Wake up, Ana!”

“Get dressed,” said Tommy. “We’ll continue this conversation later.”

“What else is there to discuss?” I sat up and wrapped my arms across my chest.

He stared a moment longer. “Boundaries.”

Then left.

.+.

John’s wife— _Esme_ —was beautiful. He was obviously pleased, kneeling on the red velvet palette, when the priest unveiled his new woman.

Ada leaned over and whispered into my ear: “Ten pounds.”

“You don’t gamble, Ada.”

As the priest laid a crown of peonies atop Esme’s head, Polly turned and shushed us.

The ceremony portion ended with the couple running through an archway, while being showered with handfuls of grain and rice, into the field where we would celebrate. Setting up the festivities and parading down the shutdown streets of Small Heath had dwindled the day down to nothing. Now, the sun had set and the reception was only just beginning.

We would go until sunrise. Or, until our bodies gave out on us.

Everywhere, children chased each other and men stood in groups, smoking. In the center of the field, Charlie had built a massive bonfire. Women as old as my primary teacher, Ms. Coley, danced the _hora_. Off to the side, Curly roasted a whole pig over a small fire.

“ _Ana!_ ” Finn called, waving me over.

“What?”

“I need you to race. We start here and the finish line is those trees over _there._ ” He pointed his finger to the forest which lingered on the edge of the field.

“I’m not racing anyone, Finn. Let alone these lousy—”

“Hey!” A kid of about eleven, with hair buzzed close to his scalp, yelled: “You’re probably slow as molasses anyway.”

“I’ve bet five quid,” Finn whispered. “One of us has to win.”

“You don’t have five quid.”

“ _Please_ ,” he begged.

“Fine. I’ll be right back.”

I took my shoes off and went to toss them into the wagon I’d been given for the night. As soon as I shut the wooden door, Michael was there, grinning.

“Hey.”

“ _Hey_ ,” I said, bypassing him.

“I’m not dead yet,” he said, joining alongside.

“No one is being killed on John’s wedding day.” Then, I realized how morbid we sounded. “Plus, you didn’t do anything wrong. Tommy and I sleep in the same bed all the time. There’s nothing to it.”

“Sure.”

“There’s not.”

“Sure.”

We reached Finn and his friends.

“First one to the trees takes the pot. Ready?”

“You racing?” Michael asked.

“Ready,” I said.

“ _Three. Two._ ”

“This is for you, Finn.”

“ _One_.”

I took off. My lacy dress— _periwinkle_ —was taking on mud. My diamond necklace beat against my chest with every stride. I’d forgotten how running made one feel as free as flying. When I was a child, I’d run everywhere. Now I was grown and there was nowhere I wanted to be.

I won. Easily.

“Damn,” Michael cursed. “Thought I had you there.”

“Didn’t even realize you’d joined,” I said, laughing as blood rushed to my face. “Should’ve bet money on me self.”

Finn, having just reached the tree line, pumped his fist. “ _Yes!_ ”

“What are you celebrating?” I asked. “The pot is mine. I won.”

“No fair, Ana. We agreed.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll let you have the money, but only ‘cause its John’s wedding.”

Michael and I left the kids before the divvying process could commenced.

“Ana! Come over here! She’s about to throw the bouquet!” Ada yelled. She was huddled near the fire with Esme and four other Lee girls. 

“You think you’ll be the one to catch it?” Michael asked.

“I’d let it hit my face before I’d raise my hands.”

He laughed. Comforted, perhaps, by my lack of interest in marriage altogether. “See you later?”

“Maybe.”

When I reached Ada, the girls had already formed a group ten feet behind Esme. “Good, good,” she said. “Stand here.”

“I’m not catching the bouquet.”

“You might.”

“I won’t.”

“There she goes!” someone yelled.

The women scrambled. My poor feet were trampled. The bouquet floated through the air and then, with ample grace, landed on the fire.

“That’s unlucky,” said Ada.

I sighed. “I’m going to eat.”

.+.

Around two, the men returned from “kidnapping the bride.” They’d taken Esme hostage and held her in an undisclosed location until John gave them their “ransom.” Which was, more likely than not, several bottles of premium Irish whiskey.

John carried her onto the field and set her down next to the flames. The music changed from fast folk to a slow waltz tune. He grabbed her by the waist and spun her around. She tossed her head back in ecstasy and abandon.

Marriage wasn’t bad, if they were any indication. Already, they moved as though they shared a single mind.

“Do you dance?” Michael had come up to stand by my side without my noticing.

“If I’m asked properly.”

“Would you like to dance? With me?” He bent over a bit, as though bowing to royalty.

“Just one.”

.+.

Tommy stood back from the crowd, smoking his cigarette, watching the revelries unfold. The bad business with the Lee family was put to bed. John hadn’t offered too much of a fight. His nieces and nephews had a mother. Nearly everything was right in the world…

“I’ll have a word with him,” said Polly.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her staring, but he kept his gaze on the young couple. “I’ve already had a word with him, Pol. Didn’t work.”

“Don’t allow this family to be torn apart over petty jealousies, Thomas.”

“You look beautiful tonight.”

She scoffed. Though, secretly, she was pleased.

“I’m serious.” He took a deep drag. “You’re back in your element. Barefoot. In a field. Telling people what to do.”

“If I don’t, who will?”

They both watched as Michael placed his hand on the small of Ana’s back.

“You’ve given him no choice.”

Tommy raised his eyebrows. “I’ve given him every choice.”

“What else does he have, Thomas? You’ve ousted him from the business—”

“My business.”

“Made him an outcast in his own family—”

“My family.”

“That’s not how families work, I’ll thank you to know.”

“Neither is _that._ ” Tommy jabbed his finger in the direction of the dancing couple. “Neither is that.”

“If it were you over there, with _her_ , acting the exact same way… No one would be able to say anything.”

“I haven’t proposed to her.”

“Would another marriage be out of the question? Ana’s not much younger than John.”

“Polly—”

“Michael is a _good boy_ , Thomas. He works hard. He’s loyal. Cousins marry.”

“You’re serious?” Tommy squinted. “I don’t believe you are.”

“If it’ll mean peace, _I am_.”

He turned his body to face hers. In the dark, he was a skeleton wearing a skin suit. He was _death_ incarnate, in a three-piece.

Polly shook her head. “Forget I said anything.”

“You have a word with him, Pol. You have a word with him because I’m done with words.” Tommy stamped out his cigarette. “If you’ll excuse me.”

.+.

Michael stopped dancing suddenly.

“What is it?” I asked.

His hands vacated my waist. “Your brother.”

When I turned around, Tommy was there. He stood with his hands in his pockets, observing us.

“Could I speak with my sister, Michael?”

“We’re just in the middle of dancing,” I said.

“That’s alright.” Michael stepped away. “I’ll go have a drink.”

By the way he said _drink_ , I knew he was about to go stand behind one of the wagons and snort snow.

“Have a drink, Michael.” My brother smiled. “Have two. You gave a good speech. Well done.”

“Thank you, Tommy.”

A glimmer of hope lit behind Michael eyes. This much was clear: He admired Tommy as much as he feared him. Wanted to _be_ Tommy as much as he wanted to _take_ his place.

Once he’d gone, Tommy held out his hand. Almost as soon as our skin touched, he began dragging me away.

“Where are we going?”

He said nothing and I stumbled along behind him until we reached my wagon. He ushered me inside with a hand on my back. 

“Tommy—”

Before I knew which way was up, he had my body pressed against the door and his face an inch from mine. “Yes?”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m not doing anything, love.”

My heart was pounding wildly beneath my dress. “You’re doing _something_.”

He shook his head, still observing—like a chemist in a lab—the reaction his mere presence caused. “What am I doing, Ana? Tell me.”

His breath ghosted across my face. He smelled of wood smoke and damp leaves. No whiskey. No tinge of _inebriation_ to dull his potent effect.

“You’re making me confused.”

Tommy trailed his fingertips down the slope of my neck and a shudder cascaded through me like torrents of icy-black water. “What is there to be confused about, eh?” His hand took hold of mine and, in one fluid movement, brought it to rest upon his chest. “I’m yours.”

With his other hand, he palmed my sex. “You’re mine.”

“ _Ah…_ ” I closed my eyes and bit my cheek. Eton hadn’t made me feel like this. Michael hadn’t made me feel like this. What else did I have to compare my feelings to? Nothing. “You can’t.”

“But I am, love.” His lips grazed mine. “It’s been coming a long time.”

“There’s no going back, Thomas.”

“I’m done looking back.”

Tommy swooped, then. Gripped my lips—gripped my _soul_ —and refused to let go. He kissed like a man possessed. Like a war-torn, out-of-his-God-fearing-mind, _I’ll fuck you stupid for looking at me sideways_ man. And as he kissed me, he rubbed the heel of his palm against my tender center.

I drew back from sheer devastation. Tremulous waves of pleasure were echoing out from his hand and reverberating throughout my body.

“Let’s talk.” He sounded _thoroughly unaffected_.

“What— _ah…_ What about?”

“Boundaries.” Tommy took his hand away.

My pleasure dropped off the edge of a cliff and I couldn’t stop a whine from escaping my lips.

“ _Shh. Come ‘ere._ ” Tommy tapped my side. In a show of joint coordination, he hoisted my thighs while I wrapped my legs around his core. “You are mine.” He sauntered over to the small cot at the back of the wagon. “No more making men fall in love with you. _I_ love you.” He laid me down on the bed. “If you must beat someone—beat _me_. I can take it.” Hiking up my dress, he casually pulled off my underpants. “And no more fucking strangers. _I’ll_ fuck you.”

“You will?” I leaned up onto my forearms. “Now?”

He pushed me down onto my back, gently. “When we’re home. Now, I’ll make you come.”

I shook my head. “Maybe not.”

“Why’s that?”

“I never have before. Apparently, I’m not easy to please.”

Tommy parted my legs. “What did I tell you about coming?”

The wagon was silent as I thought back to our conversation months ago. “You’ve made every woman except the first one— _ah!_ ”

He’d dipped his head as I was speaking. Warmth spread down my legs. Eton had _never_ …

“Fucking Christ!”

“Fucking _Shelby,_ ” Tommy muttered.

“Don’t stop.”

“Say my name then.”

“ _Tommy._ ”

“What’s that?”

“Tommy _fucking_ Shelby, for the _love_ of God, continue!”

He returned to his ministrations and within seconds, I was nearing the edge of a great precipice. _Wobbling. Teetering. Vacillating_ between composure and certain ruin. Just as I thought to give myself to the awaiting abyss, there came a _knock, knock._

“Ana?” It was Michael.

“Answer him,” said Tommy.

“ _No._ ”

“Answer him. Now.”

“Don’t come in!” I yelled.

“I just came because they’re about to cut the cake.”

Tommy took care of his own business, plying my flesh with his expert tongue, and left me to take care of Michael.

“Okay. I’m—I’m _coming_!”

“Alright. See you in a bit, yeah?”

“Yeah!”

My hands were in Tommy’s hair, holding his face against my snatch. With excessive pleasure and unnatural quietness, I came undone. Violently writhing as he kept on going, undeterred.

“Stop. _It’s too much._ ” He kept going. “Ah… _fuck._ Tommy,” I pleaded.

He pulled away with a _pop_. “You.” Then kissed my utmost point of sensitivity. “Me.” Then bit a chunk of my thigh. “Respect the boundaries.”

“I will.”

“Atta girl.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this chapter and wish for me to continue, drop a comment. I've spread myself out across multiple platforms and multiple stories and am constantly trying to gauge which to give my attention to. Also, thanks to the people who have already commented (or commented multiple times). I appreciate your input/encouragement!


	9. Wild Horses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Already _nine_ chapters in? Wow. 
> 
> Thanks for coming back time and again. Enjoy!

When morning dawned—the people gone, the fires doused, the wagons rolled away—only a field littered with trampled flowers remained.

I slouched against the backseat of the Bentley, waiting for Thomas to come drive us home. Ada had gone ahead with Karl to Watery Lane around four. Meanwhile, Finn laid by my legs, knocked out.

The driver’s side door opened and Curly climbed in.

“Curly,” I greeted. “Where’s Tommy?”

“’E said I was to drive you’s two home, he did. ‘E ‘as business and told Curly to take you’s home.”

“Alright.”

Our rendezvous in the wagon ended abruptly. As we stood by, watching John and Esme cut into their two-tiered sponge cake, he kept his hand on my back the entire time. The support was necessary. Pantiless, my legs quivered, constantly on the verge of collapse. I’d never experienced an earthquake myself, but I’d read about aftershocks in a geology book at school. That’s what it was. _Aftershocks._

The realization just kept hitting me over the head, again and again: _You’ve opened Pandora’s box_ — _out come the ills of the world._ Polly’s conception of Hell lingered somewhere close by; but closer still was the consummate pleasure Tommy’s persona promised. He could make me feel things no one else could.

What would I be willing to sacrifice for his brand of love?

A _brand_ it would be. I would wear the stain of incest. I would never be with another man. I would have to live a secret life. _Love_ in secret.

And yet… The decision was simple.

I would. A thousand times, I would.

.+.

A deep sleep enveloped my psyche as soon as we were home. Tommy’s silk-laden bed, a moat unanchored from reality, ferried me from one dream to the next. Each strange and devoid of substance. Owls turning their heads all the way ‘round. Odd letters spelling out indecipherable words. Glittering jewels the size of Karl’s head. The hours ticked by around me.

Something jostled my consciousness back to the forefront.

“ _What?_ ”

“I’m home.” Tommy plied himself to my back and held tight. “Go back to sleep, love.”

Returning to sleep was as quick and painless as swallowing a cyanide tablet.

.+.

While pinning my hair into a low bun, I used the gilded vanity mirror to watch Tommy sleep. The barest streaks of watery dawn illuminated his pale skin. Rarely did he look as peaceful and still as this.

After grabbing my coat from the seat by the window, I crept over and placed a feather-light kiss onto his temple. When I went to stand, a hand took hold of my wrist.

“Where are you going?” He hadn’t even opened his eyes yet.

“Polly’s.”

Releasing his grip, Tommy flipped over onto his back. He observed my state of dress. My hair. 

“Not to see Michael.”

“Surely not.” He stuck his arm out and grabbed the cigarette case resting on the bedside table. “Why are you going to Polly’s, Ana?”

“She said she wants to see me. Anyone’s guess as to why.”

He lit his cigarette, took a drag. Deep-white smoke rolled out over his bare chest like morning fog. “When will you be back?”

“When I’m back.” I plucked the ciggy from between his fingertips and took a puff. “Like you tell me when you’re coming and going.”

He nearly smiled. “Have Hanson drive you. I’ll see you before sun down.”

“Here.” I gave him back his cigarette. “How long is Ada going to be staying?”

“I’ll speak to her today.” Tommy paused. “Why?”

“She can live in the house on Watery Lane if she doesn’t want to go back to London,” I said. “It’s safe in Small Heath.”

He flicked excess ash onto a bone tray. “Why do you want her gone?”

“Never said I wanted her gone.” My eyes cut toward the windows. “But I’m thinking a certain man plans to do things which need no audience.”

“Look at me.”

When I met his gaze, there was little warmth there, which only served to send tendrils of fire shooting through my veins.

“I’ll fuck you in the pasture, love, with God and everyone watching. Makes no difference to me.” He shook his head— _a simple fact_.

“Well, does to me.” I pulled my coat on one arm at a time. “I’m not a whore, Tommy. Or a _mare_. I’m your sister.” Once again, I collected the cigarette from his grasp. This time, however, I deposited the smoking paper into the ashtray. Then, with pleasure, took his jaw into the palm of my hand and squeezed. “You. Me. _Respect._ ”

“I respect you, love.”

There was high regard in his stare, as well as ample affection, but also the confidence of someone who could exercise their will without impediment.

“No one can know, Tommy.”

“Those who know, will know.”

“ _No one_.”

Using the hand holding his face, he dragged me down onto the bed and rolled on top.

“Who’s going to saying anything?” He shook his head. “Birmingham is my city. This is my fucking house.”

“I don’t have time for this. _Up._ Polly’s waiting.” I shimmied out from under him and readjusted my dress. “Until you come to your senses, _no fucking_. In a pasture or your Birmingham.”

He lunged off of the bed like he was going to grab me and I scrambled away with a delighted squeal.

“Sun down!” he called.

.+.

Polly’s house kept a dark interior. Doused with drapery—woven tapestry and ornate linens—the main light emanated from the constant fires burning in the hearths. She rang a little bell and a maid with black hair brought a tray of tea.

“Is this going to take very long?” I asked, pulling off my gloves. There were haunts in Small Heath I wanted to visit before returning home.

“Mind yourself.” Polly brought a porcelain cup to her red-stained lips. “Delicious, Margret. That’ll be all.”

Margret left with only a backward glance as she turned the corner at the archway.

“I have something for you.” Polly set down her tea and took up a brown, felt bundle from the silver tray. “Here.”

Once I had the bag in my hands, I tugged at its twine enclosure and attempted to peer inside. “What is it?”

“Tea,” she said.

“Oh… Thanks.”

“ _Blue cohosh_ , it’s called. The natives in America discovered its contraceptive properties. Boil it in a bit of water, drink it just like this.” Polly hoisted her cup.

“How often?”

“Three days after intercourse.”

Pulling the closure shut, I nodded. “Thank you, Pol.”

“That’s not all.” She rose from the chair she’d been sitting on and ventured over to the fireplace. From a small wooden box resting on the ledge, she removed another bag. This one was larger. “Have these as well,” she said, tossing the package. “They’re rubbers.”

“Rubbers?”

“Made in America, for their soldiers. They’re for a man’s meat, so give them to your fellow.”

“Don’t have a fellow,” I said. “But thanks.”

“ _Hmm._ ” She retook her seat.

“Was this all?”

“Yes.” She allowed me to pull on my gloves, rise from my chair, walk to the door—before speaking. “Tell me you haven’t.”

“Haven’t what?” A pit developed in my stomach as I turned back around.

Her face was drawn; deadpan. “Just tell me.”

“Wish I could, Pol, but I haven’t the faintest idea what it is you’re talking about.”

“Play dumb, Anabel, but at _least_ tell me you know the difference between right and wrong.”

“I know the difference is relative. And if this family had only done right, you wouldn’t have this house.”

“Fixing races is one thing.”

“And what’s the other?”

She couldn’t respond. Tommy was right—no one could say anything. What we were engaging in was _unspeakable_. 

“I haven’t,” I said, because I still _could_ say it. “I haven’t, Pol.”

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “Good.”

“Haven’t what?” Michael asked, entering from the back way.

“Given up my hope of going to Victoria College in London,” I said. “Need to study, but…”

“You leaving?” Standing behind his mother’s chair, he squeezed her shoulders and dropped a kiss onto the side of her head.

“Not back to the manor,” I said. “Not yet. I was going to hang around Small Heath today. Car’s waiting outside.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“You said you were going to look for work today, Michael.” Polly’s gaze flitted between her son’s face and my own.

“I will,” he said. “I’ll have a job before the end of the day.”

.+.

Michael walked me to the car and, to my surprise, climbed in behind me. “Where are you going first?”

“Did I ask for company?”

He lowered his head to gaze at me through his lashes. “Can I come?”

“Answer my question first.” I levelled him with an all-encompassing stare. “ _Margret._ ”

He bristled, leaned back. “What about her?”

“Do you fuck?”

“Sometimes.” He shook his head. “How did you know?”

“A hunch.” I signaled to the driver and he started the engine. “I’m going to St. Luke’s. Then The Garrison. Then home.”

“A hunch based on what?”

“She looks like me.”

.+.

We climbed up to the upper reaches of the cathedral, shooed the pigeons nesting in the corner and hung our legs through the gaping holes in the wooden ceiling.

“Where will you work?” I couldn’t see Michael in a factory, on the line or shoveling coal.

“I’m good with numbers,” he said. “I’ll keep books for the little businesses ‘round town or for a bank over in London.”

“You would move to London?”

“What’s keeping me ‘ere?”

“Nothing, I suppose.”

He leaned back. “Would you miss me?”

“No more than I miss Ada,” I said. “Or John. Or Arthur—”

“I think you would miss me lots.” A grim smile graced his face. “I think you’d miss me more than you know.”

“Take a job in London,” I said. “And we’ll see.”

.+.

Michael went his own way and I arrived at The Garrison alone. Fenton tipped his chin as I sat down to the bar.

“Long time, Ana. You well?”

“Well as can be.”

“Gin?”

“If you don’t mind.”

He poured two fingers in a glass and left the bottle.

My life was split in more ways than one. While the manor—posh and illustrious—was my place of residence, Small Heath—dirty and familiar—was my home. The people here had known my mother. They’d witnessed my childhood and its eventual end. The manor was everything Tommy wanted us to become. Whereas, Small Heath was who we’d _been_. The smell which never washes off.

There was something special about wandering the narrow streets drunk, smoking under the wharf by the cut, being respected by every random passerby; and something nostalgic about the look in someone’s eyes when they heard the name _Shelby_. I’d always romanticized the country, but truth be told: Tommy was the only thing which made living away from Small Heath worthwhile.

“Fenton.” A delicate, Irish accent sounded to my right.

I’d been staring into my cup, daydreaming. My head rose slowly at the sound of her voice. 

“What are you doing back?” Fenton asked, a bit breathless.

“I’m visiting with my husband.” A sidelong glance revealed Grace in a spring-green dress, a cloche hat, with her blonde hair curled up at the ends. “Thought I’d say hello.”

“We sure miss your singing ‘round ‘ere. Ain’t the same without you.” Fenton threw down the rag he’d been using to clean. “What do you want? Anything. On the house.”

“No, no.” She held up a demure hand. “I shouldn’t drink.”

“Why’s that?” I asked.

“Excuse me?” With a raised eyebrow, she turned to look at me. “You’re—”

“Ana.”

“Tommy’s sister.”

“Tommy’s sister, _Ana._ ” I unscrewed the bottle of gin. “Can I have another glass, Fenton?”

“Right away.” He pulled a clean one from underneath the counter.

“Thank you.” After refilling my own, I topped off the extra cup. “This here is good gin. Have some.”

“I really shouldn’t,” she said.

“Are you one of those women who can’t handle their drink?”

“’Fraid so.” She eyed me as I downed the contents of my cup.

“Shame,” I said. “’Spose you’ll be wanting to speak to Tommy. ‘Bout the baby.”

Fenton quickly removed himself.

Grace furrowed her thin brows. “I never said—”

“That’s why you’re still here, isn’t it?” The gin _glugged_ as I poured myself another. “Why you didn’t get on the boat?”

“He told you.” Misplaced hope shone through her words.

“That he did.”

“I don’t have his address. We thought—This was unexpected—”

“Of course.” I threw back my shots, then hers, and stood up from my stool. A wave of nausea rolled through me. _Damn abstinence_ for weakening my tolerance. “He’s the same as any businessman, Grace. You call his office. You set an appointment.”

“Are you going to him now?” She approached with a wide-eyed look. “Couldn’t I come with you?”

“You don’t want to be in the back of a car with me, love.”

“Why not?”

“Because Tommy may have forgiven you for being a two-faced, copper spy—the likes of which are no better than the _rats_ living in the alley behind this bar—but I haven’t.” I swiped the bottle of gin from the counter and dipped my head. “You have a good day.”

.+.

Grace would look beautiful in her wedding dress. Without a doubt, Tommy would make quick work of her husband, leaving them a clear path to the aisle. Then, a picturesque family life. Their future was laid out like dominos. Each piece would fall, knocked down by the one before, and there was no stopping the chain reaction.

I tripped my way up the front steps of the manor. Nearly fell, _twice_. Without sunlight, I was making the trek blind, with only one free hand. The other held my bottle of gin tight.

“I’m home!” My voice echoed in the three-story foyer.

I’d piddled around by the cut for a few hours, trying to think up ways to be okay. _If I were any other sister, what would I do? If I were Ada, how would I feel…?_ But nothing worked. I was too fucked up to imagine how someone normal would act.

Tommy came lumbering into the foyer, a familiar crease between his eyebrows. “Did you catch the sunset, Ana?”

“I’m _late_ ,” I drawled. “I _know._ ”

“And drunk, I see.” Coming to a stop a few feet away, his sharp eyes took in my tilted stance, my bottle of gin. “What’s happened?”

“I ran into your old love… _Grace._ ”

He went silent for a moment. “And?”

“And you’re going to have an appointment on your books come tomorrow… Almost feel bad for Lizzie, poor girl…” I swept a hand through my hair. “You’ll have an appointment with Grace and she will… _inform you_ … of the child she’s carrying.” 

“Ana—”

He stepped forward and I stepped back.

“I hope it’s a boy. A boy should be eldest. The girl comes—”

He stepped forward again, this time with his arms outstretched. “Ana—”

“ _Second._ ” I threw the bottle of gin at his feet. The shattering glass exploded across the floor. “Just like in life!”

“ _Absolutely not!_ ” Even angry, Tommy kept a tight lid. The only difference was in his breath. He heaved, like a bull. “Absolutely not. You want to throw a fit or talk?”

“Well, I don’t want to talk,” I said. “What else can I throw?”

“Ana. _Ana!_ ”

But I was already stalking away, towards the reception room. Upon hearing the crunch of glass behind me, I ran, clumsily and with only a vague sense of direction.

“So many nice things. Expensive—” Lifting a glass decanter from the bar cart, I held the object above my head. “—and _fragile_.”

“Put it down, love.” Tommy stood at the entrance. Though still, latent energy zipped around his body; poised to spring, like a panther in the jungle. “Put it down,” he whispered. “Now.”

A sigh _whooshed_ from my lungs. “Okay.”

The decanter dropped onto the bar cart. The impact broke bottles open and sent their contents rushing over the sides. Shards of glass _tinkled_ to the floor. I was already looking for my next target when he bumrushed—wrapped his arms around my body and wrenched me into the air. Arching my back made no difference. He had me good. My feet kicked uselessly.

“Știi ce se întâmplă cu caii sălbatici.” Tommy spoke into my ear: _You know what happens to wild horses_.

There was a sound—a scuffing sound. His attention momentarily diverted, I took the opportunity to break free from his hold.

“My apologies, sir.” The household’s youngest maid stood underneath the archway. “I’m so sorry.”

“Go back to bed, Adelaide. It’s alright.” Tommy pointed toward the staircase. “Everything’s fine. Go back to bed.”

When she’d gone, he tilted his head back to stare up at the ceiling. “Ana, Ana, Ana,” he sighed.

I was perched on the arm of the nearby sofa, watching him, warily. “You’ve done us both in.”

“How so?” He brought his chin down to meet my gaze. “Use your words.”

“Would’ve been fine had you not done what you did at the wedding.” A smarting pain in my thumb alerted me to the presence of blood. “Still would’ve been _shite_ , but… I’d have managed better.”

His shoes tracked glass across the rug. “Here. Let me see.”

“No, it’s fine,” I said, drawing back.

“Let me.” Wrapping his pale hand around my wrist, he brought my cut up to his face. Then, without hesitation, stuck my thumb into his mouth.

This wasn’t novel. He’d kissed plenty of my _boo-boos_ as a child, often at my insistence. Never, however, had he locked his glacial eyes onto mine and applied suction-like force.

“ _Tommy._ ”

He allowed my thumb to slip from his mouth. “Same blood, love.”

“Polly asked me today… Without asking, she asked me,” I said. “And I told her we hadn’t.”

“Thought you didn’t want anyone to know?” He kept ahold of my hand.

“She already knows. She’s _Polly._ ”

Thomas shook his head. “No one knows anything for sure. Not until you say the words.”

“I won’t ever say those words. This is over.”

With a surprising show of strength, Tommy picked my body up by the waist. On instinct, I wrapped my legs around his torso. Next thing, my back was pressed against a wall and he was my only support.

“Says who?”

“Me.”

“Because Grace is up the duff?”

“Because you’ll marry her, Tommy. I know you.”

“If I do or I don’t, that’ll be my decision.”

“And if you do, I’ll leave. I won’t be in the same house as that woman.”

“And go where, _eh_?” He wrapped one of my curls around his finger.

“I’ll live with Ada, in London.” Turning my head to escape his eyes, I said, “Probably better that way. It’s closer to where I’ll be going to school.”

“You’re not going to school in London, Ana.” He pulled my chin back around. “And you’re not moving out.”

“Says who?” Blood was pumping in my ears.

“ _Me._ ” He pressed himself against my core. “I’ve already shaken hand with the Devil. So have you.”

“And what do I get out of the deal? _Huh_ , Thomas? You get a wife and a baby and I get to live down the hall? You get to fuck Grace and your _sister_ —and I get to stay in this house for the rest of my life?”

“Devil ain’t fair, love.”

“He’s not just unfair. He’s _cruel_.” I dropped my legs from around him and pushed at his chest. “He resembles the Tommy I love not at all. I wouldn’t have him as a man or a brother. Now take your hands off of me.”

Without a second’s delay, he did. “You want this to be done? Truly?”

“Never wanted anything more.”

“It’s done, then.” Tommy took a step back, opening space for me to leave. As I moved unsteadily toward the exit, he continued: “The boundaries still stand.”

“I don’t know what that means.” A heavy tiredness threatened to overwhelm me.

“No men. No moving. If you want to attend school badly enough, I’ll hire a governess.” He cleared his throat. “And, love? No Michael.”

“I don’t love Michael,” I said. _I love you_.

“Then we shouldn’t have any issues. Goodnight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't blame me for this chapter. Originally, Grace wasn't going to become pregnant. Blame wintersobs, whose wonderful comment gave me the idea. Angst! *throws fist into the air* 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's commented. I hope I haven't given you the impression I was going to jump ship. I will continue writing for this story (and more quickly, now I know people are invested). There are a number of twists and turns set to take place. Keep an eye out!


	10. Gone Already

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is almost entirely from Tommy's perspective. Hope you enjoy this chapter!

“She here?”

“In _there._ ” Reclining behind her red desk, Lizzie chewed the tip of a graphite pencil. “Done herself up, she ‘as. Stockings, everything.”

Tommy nodded. “That’ll be all. Thank you, Lizzie. Take the rest of the day off.”

“I’ve not finished with me work,” she said. “And it’s only five.”

“Lizzie.”

“You planning on fucking her or what? Otherwise, I don’t see why I should be leaving.”

Tommy paused with his hand on the door to his office.

“Go home.” She couldn’t see his face, but his voice sounded gruff. _Strained._ “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

.+.

He poured himself a drink before speaking to the woman seated before his desk.

“I’d offer you one, but…” Tommy brought the glass to his lips. The scent of Irish whiskey fled up his nose and blossomed inside of his head. Then the burning liquid was down his throat. Gone, already.

“She told you.” Grace gazed at him from across the room with her sapphire eyes. “I wanted to be the one.”

“What difference does it make?” Tommy was contemplating the damp interior of his cup. Droplets of whiskey—golden and translucent—clung to the crystalline surface. 

“Should’ve been me, don’t you think?” she said. “Seeing as I’m the one who’s pregnant.”

“Go ahead, then.” Tommy poured himself another drink—a scotch—then ventured behind his oak-paneled desk. “Tell me.”

Grace’s gaze flickered to the ceiling as she shook her head. “You already know.”

“I do.”

“And?”

“And—” He met her eye. “Is the baby mine?”

Grace’s laugh sounded like dry leaves shaking in a tin can. “ _Is the baby yours?_ ”

“Don’t mean any offense, but—considering you have a husband, Grace—you’ll forgive me if I offend.”

“No. I won’t forgive, Tommy.” Turning her head, she sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and was still for a moment. “Two years of trying for a baby and _nothing_. One night with you and…”

“You’ve yet to answer my question, Grace.”

Her head whipped back around. “My husband is infertile.”

“You have a medical diagnosis?”

“No. You’ll have to take my word for it,” she stated. “I hadn’t laid with my husband since before we came to London. Over two weeks.”

Tommy nodded. “And now?”

“Now what?”

“Have you laid with him since?” He pulled a silver case from his jacket pocket and retrieved a cigarette from the pack. “Since you found out you were pregnant?”

“How dare you, Thomas.” Her eyes were as narrow as a cat’s.

“Just conversation, love.” He sparked the tip. “Have you?”

“That’s none of your business.”

Tommy cocked his head and blew smoke. “Have you, Grace?”

She was the first to blink. “Last night.”

He took another deep drag of his cigarette. “Just in case.”

“That’s what you think—?”

“Just in case I didn’t want to be with you.” His eyes took on a glassy look. “Just in case you needed him to believe the baby was his.”

“Why are you being like this?” Grace asked. “The other night you were—you were—”

“We were at a hotel. Now—” Tommy tossed his cigarette hand, gesturing to the space between them. “I’m at work.”

“Shall we go to a bar then? The Garrison?” Grace clutched at her cloth bag and made to stand. “Anything to break you of this malicious mood.”

“What did you expect, Grace?” Tommy leaned back. “How should I react?”

“How about like a human being?” She took her seat again. “Don’t need you to cry, Thomas, but you could at least pretend I was someone you used to love.”

“I did love you.” His voice hung, light as a drifting feather, on the air. “I did.”

“And could you…? Again?”

Tommy flicked the ash off of his cigarette. “You don’t want my love, Grace. My love is a terrible thing.”

“I’ve had it before.” A delicate smile crept onto her face. “S’ not so bad.”

“Mine isn’t a life you want.” He set down his cigarette on the tray and pulled open a drawer.

“The one I have now ain’t up to snuff, I’ll tell you that.” She watched as he placed several papers onto the desk. “You’re not sparing me anything, so answer my question.”

“You’re going to get on a train. Then, a boat.” He placed four tickets in front of her. “To America.”

“Tommy.”

“You’ll receive a monthly allowance. From the company.” His tone was stiff. Formal. “That’s for you and the child. With the addition of your husband’s income—”

“ _Thomas Shelby_.”

“Should be more than sufficient to cover any costs incurred—”

“Answer my question.” As she stood up and came around the desk, her glittering shawl slipped, exposing one of her shoulders. “Drop the talk of money and give me an answer. Honestly.”

“I am giving you an answer, Grace.” He kept his eyes on the papers. “This is my answer.”

She reached out and brushed a gloved hand across the side of his face. “Look at me.”

“Grace.”

“Just look.”

He did look. He looked _hard_ at the woman. The barmaid. The spy.

From the first moment he’d laid eyes on her—dressed in white, sweating, serving whiskey by the bottle—he’d fiddled with the idea of making her his wife. Only, now, he’d crossed over into a sort of _no-man’s land_. A nearly unreachable place. And, from this vantage point, Grace appeared a miniscule dot on the horizon. Barely even real. And, if real, from another age.

“You couldn’t love me again?” she asked, placing a palm on the flat of her stomach. “What about your child?”

“My child will be taken care of,” Tommy said. “As will you.”

“We could be a family.” Grace brought his hand to cradle hers. “If I stayed.”

“We couldn’t.” He removed his hand to take up a fountain pen and began signing the documents which would abdicate his parental rights. “I have to leave the country soon. I might not be coming back.”

“What does that mean?” Grace asked, leaning over his shoulder. “Where are you going?”

“It means…” The train and boat tickets were sealed into an envelope with wax and branded with his initials: _T.S._ “I’d be a shit father anyways. Like I said—mine isn’t a life you want. You might not see now, but the life you’re living is the one for you.”

Tommy stood from his chair. Taking Grace by the shoulders, he kissed her on the head. Then, slipped the envelope and papers into her hand.

“Where are you going, Thomas? How will I reach you—?”

“You won’t,” he said. “Have a good life, Grace.”

Collecting his coat from the rack, Tommy ambled out of the office, leaving the doors open behind him.

.+.

He knocked twice. While he waited, a light drizzle of sleet soaked the lapels of his coat. Behind him, a stray mutt, emaciated from hunger, sniffed near the rubbish bins.

“What do you want?” Polly opened the door with one hand. The other fiddled to stick a dazzling black diamond through her earlobe. “I’m on my way out. Make it quick.”

“Hello, Pol. I’m here to see Michael.”

She allowed her hand to drop. “Why?”

“Is he here? I need his help.”

“Why? With what?”

“Are you going to let me in?” Tommy glanced up at the rain-soaked sky. “Before I lose a finger.”

“Let him in.” Polly moved aside to reveal Michael standing at the end of the hall. “Go on to your party, Mum. We’ll be fine.”

Her face tart and her eyes sharp, she asked: “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

Polly took up her duster from the coat rack. As Tommy stepped in, she stepped out. “I’ll be back before midnight.” Then she shut the door.

Michael lingered at the other end of the narrow corridor. “Drink?”

Tommy tipped his head. “Why not?”

.+.

Polly’s living room blazed with the heat from two fires. Tommy stripped down to his vest, unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows.

“What’s this about then?” Michael handed him a glass tumbler half-filled with whiskey.

“The only business we still have in common,” Tommy said. “Ana.”

His cousin ventured over to the couch and leaned his weight onto one of the arms. “What about Ana?”

“I have a question for you first, Michael.”

“What is it?” The boy squared his shoulders in preparation.

“What did you say to Ana before she decided to have the operation?”

“I didn’t tell her to—”

Tommy held up his hand. “What did you _say_?”

Michael sighed. “How the hell am I to know? I—I asked her if she wanted to be pregnant. She said _no_. I said she was young and—”

“And?”

He swallowed. “And _angry_. And had a lot to do before dedicating her life to someone else… But I didn’t convince her, Tommy. I couldn’t have. No one could have.”

Tommy took a sip of his drink. “Could’ve convinced me.”

Michael scoffed, turned his head. “You didn’t want her to have that baby any more than I did.”

“That’s not what I came here to speak about.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I’m going away, Michael.” Tommy set his drink down onto the ledge above the fireplace. “I need you to do a job for me.”

“Another trip?” Michael asked. “Is this Russia?”

“It is.”

“The _arms contract_ —?”

“Yes.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“Indefinitely.”

Michael’s eyes moved fast as he processed the information. “What’s the job?”

“I need you to look after Ana.”

“You want _me_ to look after Ana?” Michael shook his head. “Fucking ‘ell.”

“As long as I’m gone,” Tommy said. “And, when I come home, you’ll have your position in the company again.”

The boy went still. They both observed a moment of silence.

“That’s all?”

“Keep her safe. Keep her healthy. Keep her out of trouble,” Tommy said. “Simple.”

“Anything else?”

“She’ll want to move back to Small Heath.” He shook his head. “She’s to stay at the manor, with Finn. I’ll be back before her birthday. Most likely.”

“Okay.” Michael watched his cousin approach him with purposeful steps. “Would have anyway. Like last time.”

“One more thing.” Tommy leaned over and placed his hand onto the back of Michael’s neck. The boy strained against him, but his grip was stronger. “If you have sex with my sister,” he whispered. “Then the deal is off.”

“That’s a right solely reserved for Thomas Shelby, eh?”

Tommy’s hand came out of nowhere to crack against Michael’s cheek. He jostled the red-faced, dazed young man. “Don’t speak about things you don’t understand.”

“I understand fine,” Michael spat through gritted teeth.

“Listen. Open your fucking ears.” Tommy pinned him with his translucent gaze, allowing him to see straight down to the hardened pit at his core. “If I come home to find out you’ve been with my Ana… I will kill you.”

“How would you know?”

“I’d know.” _She would tell me. Wouldn’t be able to help herself…_

“I’m not afraid—” Michael tried to say.

“Think about Polly having to cut your body down from a rope.” Tommy shook him, twice. “It’s your choice. A place in the company or…”

When he released him, Michael stood and quickly put as much space between them as he could. “This’ll do a number on her,” he said. “You leaving again.”

“I’m aware.” Tommy took down his sleeves and slid on his suit jacket. “Don’t mention this to anyone.”

“When do you leave?”

“Two days.”

“Will you tell her yourself?”

“On my way,” said Tommy, pulling on his coat, now dry. “I’ll see you, Michael. Remember what I said.”

.+.

She was in the library when he came home—hunched over a pile of books, candles littered about her in a half-ring, scribbling diligently on parchment. He allowed the mahogany door to _click_ shut behind him, but she didn’t look up.

“I could’ve been anyone.”

“Only you would disturb me,” she said, continuing to write.

“You’re speaking to me now?”

“What do you want?”

Tommy ambled closer to her haven. “Need to have a talk, love.”

“Yes.” She set down her pen and closed the book she’d been reading out of. “That we do.”

He held back a smile. She had a way of sounding stern; effective yet _out-of-place_.

Ana unrolled a leather pouch resting on the table and pulled out a thin cigarette. “One second.”

“Since when do you smoke?”

Ignoring him, she fitted the tip between her lips and lit the end. “Have a seat.”

“Chesterfield?”

“Lucky Strike,” she said, puffing hardily.

Tommy sank down into the chair opposite. “What’s this?” He looked pointedly at the open tomes.

“I’m studying,” she said. “For college.”

“ _Hmm._ ”

“I thought about what you said all day today.” She kept her gaze on the books as well. “Știi ce se întâmplă cu caii sălbatici. _You know what happens to wild horses…_ ”

“And?”

“And I do know what happens to wild horses,” she said, tapping off ash. “They’re _broken_.” Ana’s gaze slid to his and held him captive. “Is that what you want to do, Thomas? Break me?”

Though he’d said the words, Tommy could hardly imagine what that would look like. Anabel, devoid of willfulness, drained of spirit.

“No,” he admitted. “That’s not what I want.”

“What _do_ you want?”

“You.” He stood up and held out his hand. “Dance with me.”

“Dance with you?” She was already in the process of accepting his proffered hand. “There’s no music.”

“Use your imagination.” He lifted her from her chair and pulled her close to him. One hand held aloft, the other resting on the center of her back, they swayed together to an unheard jazz melody. “Couldn’t break you if I tried.”

“You could,” she whispered. “Nearly did.”

“When?”

“When you left for Africa. When you stayed gone. When you didn’t write…”

Tommy dipped his head and ran his nose along the shell of her ear. She smelled of sage and orange peel and smoke. He would tell her about Russia. In due time, he would.

“You have too much power over me,” she said. “I need you like I need fucking _air_ to _breathe_.”

“I need you like a man dying of thirst needs water _._ ” He kissed her smooth neck.

“I need you—” A soft sigh escaped her lips. “I just need you, Tommy.”

His hand slid down to cup the rounded slope of her ass. “Grace is on her way to America.”

Ana pulled back to study his face. “What about your baby?”

“They’ll be taken care of.”

“You’re not going to marry her?” Ana asked, breathless.

“Never said I would,” Tommy replied.

Ana dropped his hand in order to wrap her arms around his neck. Surging forward, she pressed her soft lips against his. The kiss was short. When she pulled away, a youthful smile took up half of her face.

“You’re happy then, are you?” He brushed a bit of hair from her face.

“I am. I’m an evil little thing.” She cocked her head. “Aren’t I?”

“I’ve seen evil. You’re just this side of good.”

“What’s keeping me from passing over?”

“I am,” said Tommy.

“Then I’d rather not be good.” Ana placed her face close to his. “You said you would fuck me when we were home.” Her eyes roved the shadowy ceiling. “ _We’re home._ ”

Without anything more needing to be said, Tommy took his hands away. “Get undressed.”

Ana blinked.

He went over to the wooden table where her study materials were laid out and swept them onto the floor with one brandishing movement. “Now.”

“That was unnecessary,” she said, unbuttoning the front of her dress. When she reached her belly, she simply allowed the material to fall away, leaving her in her shift. “Everything?”

“Everything.”

Pulling her shift up by the bottom edge, Ana lifted the fabric over her head, baring her breasts to her brother. Only her underwear was left. Meeting Tommy’s watchful eye, she bent over and removed those as well.

“Come here,” he said.

Tommy lifted Ana’s naked body onto the table. Her skin was warm beneath his fingertips. As he removed his suit jacket, he ran his eyes over the curve of her shoulders, the squidgy plain of her stomach, the generous heft of her hips and the slender muscularity of her legs. She was _no-man’s land_. Littered with shells and hidden mines—a place where no man in his right mind would dare step foot. Luckily, Tommy had lost his mind a long time ago.

His vest came off, but he stopped there. “Lay back.”

Ana breathed deep and slowly lowered herself onto the table.

Tommy knelt down onto the floor.

“What are you doing?”

His hands pressed her legs open. “Making you feel good.”

Next thing, his tongue was running up her slit. Firm and methodical—that was always his preferred method—but once he heard her breath catch, he threw in the spontaneous suckle or blow. She wasn’t one to close up with pleasure, like a clam. Rather, she was the sort to _blossom_ , like a flower. Her thighs fell open wider at his ministrations and he was almost proud.

“ _Ah._ ”

“’S alright, love. Be as loud as you want.”

“The _staff_ —”

Tommy slid his index finger into her sopping snatch. “Who?”

“The—the—”

He curled the finger and was now rubbing her from the inside.

“ _Fuck._ ”

“Soon.”

He returned to licking and sucking, an elusive goal flittering at the back of his mind. When he added a second finger, her thighs began to shake. She was close. He fucked her with his fingers and applied his tongue with fearful skill. Before long, she couldn’t hold back her groans.

“Don’t stop. Don’t. Don’t stop.”

He wasn’t going to stop. Ana’s opening clamped down around his fingers and began spasming rhymically. He kept on for several seconds. Then, without warning, removed his fingers and continued with his tongue.

“ _AH!_ ”

A great torrent of liquid splashed against his chin. Tommy stuck his fingers back inside, pumped, then removed them again. Twice more, she squirted onto his face.

When she’d finally given all she had to give, he slipped his tongue back into his mouth and kissed her sex. “Atta girl.”

“What was that?” Ana breathed. She had her head lolled to one side and appeared exhausted.

Tommy stood and began unbuckling his belt. The _clink_ of metal and the silky _slip_ of leather sliding through cotton loops preceded a long _zip_. “That was just the beginning.” He took her hips and slid them to the edge of the table. “You ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Tommy took himself from his pants and placed his tip at her entrance. “I love you,” he said. “Anabel _fucking_ Shelby.”

“I love you, too. Thomas _fucking_ Shelby.”

As he slid home, she tilted her chin toward the ceiling, baring her neck to him. He leaned over and grazed his teeth where her artery ran beneath her skin.

“ _Oh_ ,” she cried, grasping onto his back. “ _Oh, wow._ ”

He continued pressing inward for nearly ten minutes, allowing her to adjust to the size of him with every inch. It wasn’t that he was particularly girthy—his cock was as lean as him—but his length was considerable. It helped she was dripping wet. By the time he was fully inside, Ana’s breath was coming in spurts. There was a sense, for a moment, of being exactly where he belonged. Then, the feeling was gone, replaced by _pure need_. He needed to be deeper inside of her, a part of her, merged with her. _Her, her, her._

Tommy slid out. When he thrust for the first time, she gasped: “ _Tom_.”

“Give in.” He hadn’t wanted to break her, he realized then. He’d wanted _this_. “Give in, love.”

His words must’ve meant something to Ana, because her body relented minutely. Soon, he was fucking her pussy without remorse or sentimentality. They might as well have been animals. Ana keened, ground their pelvises together every time he bottomed out, scratched at his shirt. He brought her legs around to rest on his back, massaged her thighs with brutal fingers, lapped her nipples.

There was nothing discreet about this coupling. If there was a maid listening at the door, she would hear the slap of their flesh and Ana’s constant whine. She wouldn’t hear his words, but only because they were whispered into Ana’s ear.

“You’re mine.” “Who else but you?” “Where did you come from?” “My girl.” “Good to you...” “Always.” These fragments were out of his mouth before he’d even thought them. Before he even knew what they meant.

He felt when was she was about to come. Her sex gripped him like she wanted to break off a piece of him and keep him inside.

“Are you going to come for me?”

She nodded vigorously. He bit down on one of her nipples. “Yes!”

“Yes, you’re about to come?”

“Yes, Tommy!”

“Go ahead, love.” He picked up speed, pistoning his cock. “Have at it.”

“Come with me.” She grasped his face with both hands.

“Yeah?”

“Yes!” she cried, already tipping over the edge.

Tommy allowed himself to follow. He closed his eyes and saw the spark of gunfire. Perhaps he even blacked out for a moment, because when he came to, Ana was stroking his hair.

“So that’s what it’s supposed to feel like.”

Tommy rose up onto his forearms to look at her.

“Sorry,” she said, smiling lazily. “I forgot I’m meant to be a virgin.”

“You’re funny,” he said, lifting up.

She sat up as well, with him still inside of her. “Can we do this forever? All day? Every day?”

“If you want,” Tommy lied. He hoisted her up from the table by her thighs and she stacked her arms on his shoulders. He began carrying her to the door.

“Tommy? Tommy, my clothes.”

“You won’t need them. We’re not done.”

“You’re not taking me through the house naked,” she said, squirming in his grip.

“Everyone’s asleep.” His palm struck her ass once, twice, three times before she went still. “I’ll be quick.”

Pressing her chest against his, she shook her head. “You’re fucking sadistic.”

His cock started to grow hard again inside of her. “And you can’t get enough, love.”

.+.

Michael’s mother shook him awake.

“ _What? What is it?_ ”

“ _Shhh._ It’s me.” Polly laid a hand on his shoulder. “What did he say?”

“Who?”

“Thomas.”

Michael sat up in bed. He couldn’t see his mother’s face in the dark. “He asked me to do a job… In exchange, I’ll have my job in the company back.”

“What’s the job?”

“He told me not to say—”

“Michael.” Polly paused. “I know he’s going to Russia. I know about the arms’ deal. I know everything which takes place in regards to the company. But I don’t know anything about this.”

“It doesn’t have anything to do with the company.”

“Tell me.”

Michael sighed. “It’s about Ana.”

“What did he say?”

“He said to look after her. Keep her safe.”

“He used those exact words?”

“Yes.”

Polly nodded. “Listen to me, Michael.”

“I already know what you’re going to say—”

“You keep your wits and you might end up back in the company. You don’t, you may well end up _dead._ Tommy’s given you one job: Keep Ana safe. Look after her. Mind you, he didn’t say _take care of Ana_. Don’t misconstrue.”

“What’s the difference?”

“One you can do entirely with your pants _on_.”

“He’s given me the speech.” Michael worked his jaw. “Can I go back to sleep now?”

“Be wary—”

“ _I’m not scared of Tommy._ ”

“Of Ana, I was going to say.” Polly took her hand away from his shoulder. “I love the girl. Doesn’t change the fact she’s a spider. Once you’re caught in her web, there’s no escape.”

“Okay,” Michael said. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

He dreamt he was suspended between two trees on a bed of silk fibers. Ana crawled toward him. Her limbs were painted black, her mouth red. She was coming to kill him.

.+.

The night and a majority of the next day were spent in a haze of sex and smoke. Tommy called into the office and pushed his last meetings to the following day. Before he could hang up, Ana was already attempting to drag him back to bed.

“Get dressed. I have something to show you.”

“Do we have to?”

“You’ll like this.”

When she was dressed, he wrapped a woolen scarf around her neck and pushed a beret onto her head.

“Where are we going?”

“To the stables.”

A thin layer of ice coated the steps to the east lawn. He held her hand to help her down. Upon reaching the stables, he slid back the barn door, placed his fingers to his lips and whistled. A soft _patter_ sounded. From around the corner, a scraggly dog emerged.

“Who is this?” Ana asked, her voice having risen several pitches.

“Found this one sniffing around Polly’s bins last night.”

Ana knelt down and held out her hands. “Come ‘ere. _Come ‘ere_ , boy.”

“It’s a girl.”

“Oh.” Ana scratched behind the mutt’s ear. “Then, I’ll call her Ridler. After—”

“The poet.” Tommy bobbed his head. “Good.”

“Is she allowed in the house?”

“I don’t imagine my saying no would stop you.”

Ana smiled. “You know me well. Come on, Ridler.”

They began the walk back, now three.

“You went to Polly’s?”

“I did.”

“For what?”

“I needed to speak to Michael.”

Ana went quiet. He thought she would push him for more answers, but she merely dropped back to fall in step with Ridler.

.+.

The next day was his last. He left for his meetings early in the morning—before Ana woke up—and wasn’t finished until evening. There were papers to sign and tasks to delegate. Polly would have provisional power and, in the event he didn’t come back, the company would fall to her.

The Bentley couldn’t go fast enough. As soon as the wheels rolled to a stop, he was out of the car and hustling up the front steps of the manor. He’d resolved to tell her about Russia. Whatever the fallout, he would see to it she was taken care of.

“Ana?” Tommy pushed open the door to their room and there she was. Stood by the window, staring out. “I’m home.”

When she turned her head, there were tears in her eyes.

“What is it?” He shut the door. “What’s happened?”

She lifted a finger to point toward his feet. He glanced down to find a lockbox.

“Adelaide came to pack your valuables.” Ana’s voice was deadened. “Said they needed to be shipped to Moscow today.”

“Love—”

“Tell me now and in very few words. Are you leaving again?”

Tommy nodded. “Yes.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow.”

“For how long?”

“I don’t know—”

Ana left behind the window to make for the door. Tommy reached out to halt her exit.

“No!” She slapped him across the face. “ _No._ ”

He could’ve held her there—given her platitudes about how the time would pass and he would be back—but right now, that would’ve only been more salt in the wound. So, he let her go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who commented last chapter! I do have to take a short break (1-2 weeks) from this story to work on another project. I would recommend turning on alerts/subscribing if you want to know when the next chapter drops. Anyways, thank you for reading!


	11. At Parting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! My break was much needed and I wrote a lot for another one of my projects. I'm happy to return to Come Home, though, and I'll be posting regularly. Come along for the ride!
> 
> Here's a short chapter to start us off.

I should be used to his leaving by now.

First, the war. France. _The Battle of the Somme_. Nine years old with a head full of cotton, I’d trapezed through the empty streets of Small Heath. There were no men left at home to serve and Polly ruled the betting shop with a velvet fist. I wrote tear-stained letters to him on the frontline, confessing my longing for him, yet possessed no inkling of what he faced. He wrote back short scribbles:

_Ana,_

_Not long now, love. Missing you. See you soon._

_Yours, Tommy_

Then, Africa. A tour from Ghana to Morocco. This time there were no metals to be won, only money to be made. The news came a month before my sixteenth birthday and he was gone before I could blow out the candles.

Now, the Soviet Union. All of a sudden my dreams made sense. The strange letters from another alphabet—they were _Cyrillic_. Blood on teeth, explosions, owls turning their heads round, glittering jewels the size of a quail’s egg…

If he went to Russia, he would _die_.

My Tommy would die.

 _Knock. Knock_. The dull sound came twice, spaced apart. Methodical, like him. The sun had sunk beneath the trees at the western edge of the estate hours ago. It was close to two o’clock in the morning now. At my lack of response, the knob jangled.

“Ana.” His voice was muffled by the thick wooden door.

“Go,” I croaked, holding myself tightly. “Just go.”

“Can’t do that, love. We need to talk.” He jangled the knob once more. “Let me in.”

My slippered feet scuffed against the silk-woven Persian rug. I knew what would become of us if I allowed him into my room. Perhaps, there would be yelling. Perhaps, he would comfort me. Certainly, my clothes would end up discarded on the floor.

“I can’t do that either.”

“Why not?”

“You’ll destroy me, if I let you.”

“I would never—”

“You can’t seem to help yourself.”

“Open the door.” My brother paused, momentarily. “I was coming home to tell you—”

“You’re leaving. Again.” I pressed my forehead against the cool wood. “Why’d you do it?”

“Do what?”

“ _Me._ ”

“’Spose I had too much time on me hands—”

“Fuck you if you think this is the time to make a joke.”

“I leave at sunrise. There’s not much time left.”

“ _Sunrise…_ ” My body slumped against the door. “If I challenged you to a duel at dawn, would you accept?”

“Wouldn’t know how to act in a duel. Too lowborn. I’d rather you take me by surprise in a back alley.”

“Would you accept?”

“If it meant seeing your face before I leave.” There was a _click_. He was lighting a cigarette. “You want me dead, eh?”

“If it meant you staying.”

“You couldn’t kill a man you hated. What makes you think you could kill me?”

“It’s my love that would make it possible.”

Who knows if I was being serious? I was glad for the door between us. If he’d been watching me with that frozen gaze of his, I might not have said such a thing.

“We fucked because you’re mine.” His voice was low, yet clear; like he held his mouth just against the oak. “My trip doesn’t change anything. When I come back—”

“You won’t come back. I’ve seen it in my dreams, Thomas. You’ll die if you go.”

There was silence from his end.

“I’m not pulling this out of me arse. I’ve seen—”

“I don’t doubt you, Ana.”

“Then you’ll stay?”

“No.”

“You’re going to _die_ , Tommy.”

“I’ve made promises. If I break those promises, I _will_ die.”

“What about the promises you’ve made to me?”

“I told you I would leave again. Not right away, but… Eventually.”

“I was naïve to think you’d stay for me.”

Tommy sighed.

“It’s fine. You go your own way and I’ll go mine. Maybe this is good. Maybe I’ll have found someone else by the time you come back—”

 _Bang._ He must’ve sent his fist into the door. “You’re playing fast and loose, love.”

“Did you think I would wait for you?” I rubbed a hand along my collarbone. “I’ll be seventeen in March.”

“This changes _nothing_ —”

“Is this why you sent Grace back to New York? No use her being here when you’re going away?”

“I chose you, Anabel.”

“Well, you shouldn’t’ve.”

Countless nights spent sharing the same bed. A lifetime spent sharing the same blood. He’d inducted us both into a world of sin and was now leaving me to live in it alone.

“Do you remember when the Piccadilly Circus came to Birmingham?” Tommy asked.

Of course. I’d been six years old and wafer thin. Weeks after the circus left, I was still obsessed with the idea of becoming a performer. Polly told me it was the gypsy in my veins making me want to travel from city to city and risk my neck every night.

“No. I don’t remember.”

“Carried you on my shoulders beneath a grand, yellow tent… What was the elephant’s name? Penn? Pom-pom?”

“ _Pookie._ ”

“So she does remember. _Pookie_.” Thomas chuckled. “You cried when you saw where he slept. Asked me to buy him. We didn’t have money then. I could barely afford the tickets.”

“Is this fun for you? Reminiscing?”

“It is. I enjoy remembering that girl. That girl knew she was loved. That girl knew I would take care of her. She knew if I left, I would always come back. For her.”

“Some things are outside the control of even the _great_ Tommy Shelby. Time, for one. That girl grew up,” I said. “And she learned though reunions are sweet, absence does its own special kind of damage.”

“You’re made of tougher stuff than that.”

“I am now. I won’t do what I did last time. I won’t succumb to missing you. I’ll simply move on. Wash my hands of the whole affair.”

“Good luck,” he said, as though I were speaking of capturing stars in my pocket.

.+.

I woke up on the hard floor. Past the curtains—gold satin and drawn—night persisted. I must’ve dozed off.

“Tommy?”

There was no response. Dread flared against my heart like the gas flame on a stovetop. Had he left already? Had he given up and gone to his own bed?

“ _Tommy._ ”

Nothing.

Scrambling onto my feet, I placed a hand against the knob. My hesitation was bowled over in an instant. The door swung open and I peered into the hallway. First, left. Then—

“ _Ah!_ ”

He caught me off guard. Swift as a viper, he placed his arms around my midsection, lifted my body off the ground and carried me into my room.

“Stop! Stop it!”

“Settle down, Bellflower.” He laid us both across my bed, yet kept his grip the same. “It’s me _._ _Look._ It’s me.”

“I know it’s you, you idiot.”

“It’s _me_.” He chucked my chin with his. “Don’t forget who I am to you.”

“Who are you to me?” I asked. “Huh?”

“Your brother.” He relaxed his hold somewhat. “If I die, I’ll stick around and haunt you. If I live, I’m coming back here to make you my wife.”

“I think the King, the King’s government, the church and our whole bloody family might beg to differ.”

He rolled himself on top of me. “Fuck ‘em.”

“Fuck you, Tom… No, really. _Fuck you._ ” The anger in my voice was a precursor to something else, only I didn’t know what. “Why should you have everything you want? Leave, stay. Marry, don’t marry. Kill, don’t kill. It’s your world, eh? I’m just living in it.”

“It’s not my world, love. It’s the King’s world. The government’s world. The church’s world. The world belongs to institutions. I’ve managed to carve out a small piece—Birmingham—and given it to my family.” He leaned back to stare into my eyes. “Not that any of you appreciate it.”

“That’s because there’s still a king in Birmingham and his name is Tommy Shelby.”

“You want me to be the king, I’ll be the king.” He dipped down and grazed his teeth against my jawline. “Every king needs a queen.”

“You’re not making love to me again. Not tonight. Not ever.”

“You’re scared,” he whispered. “Anabel _fucking_ Shelby… Scared to give her heart away.”

“I’ll be the first to admit when I’m afraid. When I’m in over my head. When I’ve been _wounded_ —”

“Drop the self-pity for a second and you might begin to imagine how hard this is for me.”

“Then, _stay_.” I grasped his face with both hands. “Stay here. Don’t leave …” Dragging him close until I could feel his light stubble brush against my cheek, I murmured into his ear: “I’ve only just been introduced to true pleasure. Drop your self-righteousness for a second and you might begin to imagine how good I could be for you…”

Tommy made a drawn-out sound from deep in his throat, but otherwise kept silent.

“Or… You could take me with you. To Russia,” I said. “I’m old enough. I wouldn’t cause any trouble—”

“You said I would die.”

“Maybe I could stop it—”

“That’s not your job.” Tommy kissed the side of my neck lightly. “No.”

“No?”

“No, Ana.”

I shoved him off and sat up. “Then we’re at an impasse.”

Tommy rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling. “How’s that?”

“I want you to stay. You want me to be yours. If I can’t have what I want,” I said. “Neither should you.”

“Except mine isn’t a request, love, nor is it up for discussion.”

I rose from the bed. Turned to look back over my shoulder. “My needs will be met one way or another.”

“Should I drop you off at a convent on my way to the train?”

“Even as a nun, I would give myself to God. _Body, mind,_ and _spirit._ ”

His gaze crystalized. “Come ‘ere.”

“I’m not a dog.” As I ventured over to stand near the fire, I heard him climb off of the bed. “I can’t be commanded to sit and stay… You think I was different when you came back the last time? That was nothing.”

“I know you.” His presence loomed behind my back. Tentative hands rested themselves on my hips. “I would know you in another life… In a dream… Anywhere.” Those hands ghosted across my stomach. They floated over my silk shift and cupped my breasts.

Exhaling, I sank into his solid strength. One of my own hands came up to palm his cheek. “Will you write?”

“Maybe. If I’m able.”

“Why don’t you ever lie to me? Surely you’re adept by now.”

“Then you really would kill me.” He tweaked my nipples and my body responded with a convulsion. “I’ll miss you more than anything or anyone.”

“As you should.” I ground my pelvis back into his crotch. “I meant what I said—”

“Like hell, you did.”

“I’ll move on. Don’t underestimate me.”

“You underestimate yourself. You’ll survive a bit of absence and so will your love.” He used his hands to turn my body around until our faces were an inch or so apart. “ _When_ I come back, you’ll answer to me. No different than now.”

“Imagine the stories I’ll have to tell—”

He took my bottom lip between his and bit down gently. “Careful.”

“ _Hurry back._ ”

Our passion was nigh overwhelming. Oceans heaved in our kiss and volcanoes ruptured at the point where his hands touched my skin. My lungs gave up their air without a fight. Before long, I was gasping. The subtle realization of his leaving sinking in deeper with every caress.

I placed my hands on the fireplace ledge and he took me from behind. _Rough._ Rough as I felt on the inside.

Discontent welled up in my throat and poured out in one long cry.

Tommy smacked my ass. “ _Atta girl._ Get it out.”

I was never going to love anyone as I loved him and he was leaving. “I can’t— _I can’t, Tommy._ ”

“You can.” He pulled away and took me into his arms. Next thing, my back met the bed and he was slipping between my legs again. “You’ll survive.”

“Do I want to survive without you? _Ah_.”

“Don’t speak of such things.”

He pushed in deep and I bit down on my tongue to keep from screaming.

“You’ll have everything you want in this life. Don’t ever give it up. You hear me?” At my lack of a response, he jostled my body. “Eh?”

“Yes… I understand.”

.+.

I wasn’t allowed to accompany him to the station. He would ride a train to Edinburgh, then sail by boat across the North Sea to Denmark. From there, he would use various means of clandestine travel to quietly enter Russia.

Ridler accompanied us down the front steps, her tail swishing in the wintry clime. The Bentley waited by the stone fountain, loaded up with his trunks and pumping black exhaust into the emerging dawn.

“I won’t cry,” I said.

Tommy checked his pocket watch. “Good.” He slipped the glass timepiece back into his suit jacket. “Let’s have it, then.”

Plying myself to his chest, I allowed him to bundle me up in his arms. The cold couldn’t touch us. Not when we were together.

“Since we through war awhile must part, Sweetheart, and learn to lose daily use,” he said. “Lay up those secrets and those powers wherewith you pleased and cherished me these two years.”

It was from the poetry book I’d given him. _At Parting._

“You read it?”

“I read that one. Go on,” he said, squeezing me.

“Now we must draw, as plants would, on tubers stored in a better season. Our honey and heaven. Only our love can store such food.” My tear ducts pinched. I pulled the pain back just in time. “Is this to make a god of absence? A newborn monster to steal our sustenance?”

“We cannot quite cast out lack and pain, Bellflower. Let him remain—what he may devour we can well spare. He can never tap this, the true vein. I have no words to tell you what you were, but when you are sad, think: Heaven could give no more.”

“ _Oh, Tom_.” I clung to him. “You have to come back.”

“Couldn’t keep me away.” Drawing back, he placed several kisses across my face. My eyelids. My nose. My cheeks. My chin. “Keep yourself to yourself. Give my love to Finn when he wakes up.”

“I will.”

His warmth was gone. Before I knew what was what, he was climbing into the Bentley and shutting the door. As the driver stepped on the gas, Ridler came over and rubbed her neck against my leg. I watched until the car turned at the end of the mile-long drive and disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed, don't hesitate to drop a comment/kudos. It really inspires me to continue writing the best story I possibly can. I'll see you all next chapter (to deal with the aftermath). Until then!
> 
> xo 
> 
> Amelia Earhart


	12. Fight Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me longer than expected. Thanks for the love on the last chapter. Hope you enjoy!

“It’s dark.”

We were walking through the hallways of an abandoned hotel on the outskirts of Birmingham called _The Cheshire_. The high ceilings were lost to shadow. Rat-eaten holes riddled the baseboards and spider webs clung to empty candelabras. Our footsteps creaked on the uneven wooden floor.

Michael had told me to dress up for _this_?

He reached back. “Hold my hand.”

“What am I?” I asked. “Five years old?”

“You act it.”

“Hold your own hand if you’re so desperate.”

He chuckled and came to a halt before two massive, arched doors.

“Happy Birthday, Ana.”

Michael pushed back and the doors parted behind him. Bright light poured out from a decked ballroom. There was raucous cheering.

“What is this?”

“ _Happy Birthday_ , Ana!” Ada exclaimed, coming over and grabbing my arm.

Several fireplaces and enough candles to burn down the rickety hotel were lit. Gauzy streamers dripped from both chandeliers. Everyone was there. The family. The Peakies. Fenton from the bar. Jeremiah and his sons. Familiar faces from John’s wedding—Lees, most likely. Friends from primary school. A few good people from the neighborhood and the betting shop. Everyone…

 _Almost_ everyone.

Ada slipped a glass into my hand. “Drink up. You’ll need to give a speech.”

“Is that really necessary?”

But everyone was already staring. Across the way, John held his youngest in his arms and was making her giggle. Michael had disappeared somewhere. Polly was smoking a cigarette by one of the fires and an older gentleman leaned over her shoulder suggestively.

After slamming my drink— _champagne_ —I handed her back the glass. “Thanks, everyone. Means a lot you’d come all the way out to this shithole.”

“Eh, it was _cheap_!” Arthur yelled.

“Because we haven’t got the money,” I said. “Drink. Dance. In the morning, we should all be puking our fucking brains out.”

A few men said _Aye!_ In the back corner, a jazz band went to work on a quick time.

Michael returned with drinks in both hands. “Good speech.”

“Come here.” I grabbed his serious face and, with a quick flick of my tongue, licked his nose.

“Ana!” Ada yelled.

“It’s my birthday and you didn’t think to share your snow with me?” I released him.

“What’s mine is yours.” He foisted one of the drinks onto Ada and slipped a hand into his pocket. Out came a blue, glass vial. As I went to reach for the capsule, a thin hand encircled my wrist.

“You might try greeting your guests before you devolve into drug-addled debauchery.” Polly’s deep-set eyes were lined with kohl. Ruby red lipstick shone on her pursed lips.

“What was that speech I gave, then?”

Ignoring me, she turned her gaze to Michael. “And you. You’re supposed to be looking after her.”

Her son squeezed his eyes shut.

“What’s this about?” I asked, shaking off her grip.

Polly glanced between us. “He hasn’t told you?”

“Mum.”

“Michael tells me everything.” I took the snow from him. “He never stops talking.”

Polly smiled. “I’ll bet.”

“Is there something I should know?”

“ _No—_ ”

“Yes,” said Polly, interrupted his denial. “Michael was put in charge of your wellbeing before Tommy left. He’s been tasked with keeping you safe, according to Tommy’s wishes.”

“ _According to Tommy’s wishes…_ ” There was a bit of humor in that. “You’re still taking orders from him, Michael? Goodness. You don’t even receive a salary.”

“He will.” Polly wrapped the black, sequined scarf hanging down the front of her dress around her neck. “If he plays his cards right.”

“How is this any of your business?” Michael seethed.

“You told me.”

“My mistake.” Michael reached out to touch my arm, but I drew back. “Ana.”

“I need the loo,” I said. “I’ll be back.”

“I’ll come with you,” Ada offered.

“No. Don’t.”

I left the ballroom with the smooth glass capsule dangling between my fingertips. 

.+.

The day after Tommy left, I’d boiled a cup of blue cohosh. After two sips, my skin flushed bright pink. After three sips, I went running to the loo and emptied the contents of my stomach into the commode. My body sweated and shook and trembled. At the very least, I wasn’t pregnant. Rubbers would’ve been easier, not that I’d have need of them now…

Once I’d gathered myself, Adelaide had come to say I had a visitor. When I descended the staircase, Michael was standing in the middle of the foyer with his hands in his pockets.

“What are you doing here?”

“Came to see you. What else?”

We’d ambled out to the stables to brush down a few steeds. Ridler tried eating a pile of dung. I shooed her away.

“You’re alright?”

“I’m fine,” I told him. “Just fine.”

Nevermind the dreams which would not abate. Nevermind the smell which lingered on my brother’s sheets. If there was a hole left behind by his absence, I wouldn’t even acknowledge its existence. I wouldn’t rage. I would move like a cold front—studying and planning—until the hole was packed with snow. Until my life was fuller _without_ him.

“Promise not to hit me?”

“Spit it out.”

“It’ll be good for you.” Michael ran a bore-bristle brush along the hind of a palomino thoroughbred. “Him being gone.”

“Think so?”

“You can get on with things.”

“What things?”

“School. Love. Whatever you want.”

Taking a carrot from the trough, I fed my roan. “You’re right. Whatever I want…”

.+.

After snorting two bumps, I stood on a porcelain toilet and smoked a cigarette out of a narrow, smashed window. Then, I smoked another. Because I knew, outside of the door, he was waiting.

_Let him wait._

As soon as I stepped into the hallway, Michael crowded my body against the nearest wall.

“I want to explain—”

“What is there to explain?” I cocked my head. “It’s not too complicated, I don’t think. You’ve been by the manor every day. You’ve been attentive. You’ve been kind. A real source of _comfort_ … And all because Tommy told you to.”

“I would’ve been there regardless.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Don’t make this into a thing, Ana.”

My laughter echoed throughout the vast hall. “You’re a pussy.”

Michael stood up straight. “Excuse me?”

“Little soldier boy,” I said. “Following orders. What else did he require of you, Michael? He asked you to look after me and what else?”

“Nothing.” Too quick.

“What else?”

“ _Nothing_. That was it.”

I used the lapels of his suit jacket to pull his body into mine and hiked a leg onto his hip. He brought a hand up to keep it there.

“So if I told you to fuck me right here, right now, you would?”

He breathed deeply through his nose. “No.”

“Why not?” I whispered. “You don’t want to?”

His fingers tightened on my leg. “Of course I want to, Ana.”

“Then what’s stopping you?” I trailed a nail down the side of his neck. “What else did you promise, huh?”

Michael’s jaw buckled. “I told him I wouldn’t.”

“Fuck me?”

“Yes—”

I dropped my leg from his hip and my hand from his neck, as well. “A pussy and a liar.”

“He offered my position in the company again—”

“ _Your_ position in _his_ company…” Shaking my head, I said: “You’ll always be beneath him if you continue on like this—”

“Beneath him like you, you mean?”

“I’ll cut you. I swear to God.”

“Go ahead.” Michael held out his arms. “Go ahead, Ana. You’re a fucking hypocrite and a right cunt when you wanna be.”

The resounding _slap_ of my palm striking his face might’ve been heard on the other end of the hotel. “At least I’m not a slave to someone else’s will.”

He placed his face close to mine; his eyes were burning. “Aren’t you?”

“No,” I said, gathering the folds of my dress. “I can fuck whoever I want.”

As I went to slip away from him, he reached out and took ahold of my arm. “Don’t do something stupid you’ll regret.”

“Let go.”

Once he’d complied, I left him standing there.

.+.

The band wasn’t going to stop playing until I said so. This was my party. Happy _fucking_ birthday to Anabel _fucking_ Shelby. A pair of strangers were having sex in the corner of the ballroom. The fires had burned low. Alone, on the dancefloor, I swayed back and forth, holding myself and a half-drunk bottle of prosecco.

There was a tap on my shoulder. I turned, expecting Michael.

“May I have this dance, sister?” Arthur held out his rough hand.

“Sure.”

He spun me around and, thankfully, did most of the work.

“Careful, there. I’m in me cups.”

“You’ve a strong stomach. You’ll be fine.” He squinted down at my face, smiling. “Remember when you were no bigger than a sprite. Three years old, yelling at the fellas on the street to be kind to the little animals.”

I rested my head onto his chest. “Did I?”

“ _Aye_. Always had lungs of steel, you did… All grown up now, eh?”

“Just about.” Though I felt younger every day. Less secure. Less _tethered_. 

“I have something for you.” Arthur ceased swaying us and reached a hand into his pocket. “Here you are.”

He placed a red velvet box onto the palm of my hand.

“ _Arthur._ ”

“It’s not from me. I don’t have the eye for such things. It’s from Tom. Arrived from Moscow yesterday.”

My breath stalled in my chest. “Really?”

“Go on,” he said. “Open it.”

The miniscule box unsealed from the top. After pressing down on a golden pearl, its six folded sides unfurled to reveal the jewel inside. I wasn’t much one for jewelry, but… _Fuck._

“That there is more than twenty carats, if I ain’t mistaken.”

I plucked the gold-banded ring from its case. There was a heft to the diamond—a substantial weight—which would be hard to forget were the ring stationed on my finger. Exactly Tommy’s intent, I’m sure.

I turned the ring over. “What’s this?”

Arthur peered at the ring. “Don’t know. Don’t read that commy shit.”

Letters from the Cyrillic alphabet were engraved on the interior of the band.

“Me either.”

“Ask Ada. I’m sure she knows a Russian bloke. Or two.”

“Ask me what?” Ada said, coming over to stand by us. She had her coat on.

“Nothing.” I tucked the ring back into its case, closed the many-sided box and slipped the box into Arthur’s pocket. “Hold onto it for now. I’ll get it later.”

“I’m going home. Karl will be up soon and I would like to sleep some.” Ada eyed the bottle in my hand. “Would you like a ride?”

“Would you take me to Watery Lane?”

“Why are you _obsessed_ with the old house?”

“Would you take me? If not, I’ll call my own car.”

“Fine,” she huffed. “It’s your birthday.”

“No.” Michael approached from out of nowhere. “She’s not to stay at Watery Lane.”

“Why not?” Ada asked.

“Yeah, Michael.” I took a swig of champagne. “Why not?”

“Tommy said—”

“Tommy’s not here.” I grabbed Ada’s arm. “Let’s go.”

.+.

She was asleep by the time the car turned down Watery Lane.

“Take good care of her,” I said, climbing out into the damp dark.

The driver nodded. Slamming the door shut, I slapped the metal hood twice. The car pulled away.

“ _Ana,_ ” a _man’s_ voice said.

Ordinarily, I would’ve unsheathed the paring knife I kept tucked in my sleeve, only… This dress didn’t have sleeves. Turning slowly, my muscles poised to sprint, I answered: “Yes?”

“It’s me.” Underneath the feeble moonlight, a familiar face stared back. High cheekbones. Deep-set eyes. A wisdom mark streaking through his hair like the demarcations on a race track.

“Eton.” My muscles remained tensed. “What are you doing here?”

“I would’ve come sooner, but…” His hands wrung. His chest heaved. “I was scared.”

“You should be.”

Memories from Christmas Day returned in an instant. Strange men hopping out the boot of a truck. The close humidity of the terry cloth bag placed over my head. The shut door of 1121 West. Those men had been there to save us, but Eton hadn’t known anything about that then.

“After they broke my knee, I was just focused on healing,” he said. “If I can’t train, then I can’t fight. And if I can’t fight, then I can’t take care of my family. Or you. Or—”

“ _What?_ ” I asked. “What are you talking about?”

There was a small explosion—a bum fire combusting or a car backfiring—on the next street. My gaze averted momentarily, Eton took the opportunity to step closer.

“I was coming back from Gloucester when they found me.”

“When who found you?”

“Your brothers.”

My war-torn, out-of-their-God-fearing-minds, _I’ll beat you to death for looking at me sideways_ brothers. I could’ve guessed as much. Why hadn’t I guessed? I’d overestimated the usefulness of my own actions. Even after Eton left me out to dry, I’d imagined him spiriting away in the middle of the night, safe from the ramifications of our affair.

“What then?” I lifted an eyebrow. “They beat you.”

He shook his head and a dark curl fell into his eyes. “No. Pulled me out of me car, put me up against a tree. Threatened to cut me eyes out of me skull. Said no one would hear my screams since we was out in the country.”

“I see you still have eyes.”

“That’s cause the blonde one—”

“John.”

“John said it’d be better to take my knee. Said he’d heard of a blind man fighting using only his ears.”

 _Good ole John._ “Can you still fight?”

A silvery glint came to Eton’s eye. “Not half as well. Yet.”

“Congratulations. Why are you here?”

He stepped forward again and I lowered my chin to set my gaze upon him. Mine was the look of a wary woman, while his was something else. Dazed, _intent_.

“I heard you’re pregnant.”

“From who?” After the operation, my brothers wouldn’t have said as much.

“Is it true?”

“It _was_ ,” I said. “Not anymore.”

The light went from his eyes. “What happened?”

The ensuing silence pressed around my head. For several seconds, my eyes flickered from his to the door stoop and back again. Eventually, I made my decision.

“Didn’t want to be pregnant. That’s what happened.”

With Mister Gingrich, I’d seen him coming. He was old and slow. Before he could even make a fist, I had the gin bottle gripped in my hand. With Eton, things were different. Even with a trick knee, he was quick. _Quicker than heat lightning._ Quicker than me.

The blow turned my head right round. Blistering heat blossomed against my cheek. He’d slapped me with an open palm.

To save face, I kept silent about the pain and merely straightened my head. “You’ll die for that.”

His heavy hands came down onto my shoulders and his knee came up into my midsection. The breath left my body. I couldn’t keep a groan from escaping as well.

“Will I?” He pushed me down onto my knees. “Will I, princess? Do you promise?” His hand took hold of my hair. “Will you do it yourself? Like you did to my baby?”

“I didn’t take care of your baby, you fucking bastard. That’s what doctors are for. I had a lovely nurse—” He slapped me again and I tasted blood on my lip. “Named… _Mary_.”

“You’re shit, you know that? You and your whole _fucking_ family. _You_ ask _me_ to fuck _you_ and I get _my_ knee blown to pieces?”

“Your being a _fucking coward_ might have something to do with that.”

The tip of his boot pierced my stomach, or at least that’s what it felt like. “Shut up.”

The situation was almost comical. Here I was, on my knees, taking an absolute beating from a boy who wasn’t worth the grit on my shoes… No doubt, he felt as good as I had beating Mister Gingrich. No doubt, he felt as justified, as righteous as I had.

There was no way around the pain. I’d never bested him in a fight. Not once.

What had I told Ada? _Imagine what that feels like. To finally get him, without him getting you…_ Well, here I was. Getting _got_. And no threat, however well said, was going to save me.

 _BOOM_.

His grip on my hair went slack. Eton cried out and clutched at his shoulder.

“Get the fuck away from her!” It was Michael. He was running down the lane, his duster billowing around him, brandishing a pistol.

Eton backed away. Blood was running down his shirt, blue-black in the moonlight. Without another word, he ran.

Michael sprinted right past where I was stationed on my knees. He went halfway down the lane and fired two more shots. When he returned, his gun was put away. “Ana? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” As I said the words, I started to laugh. Terribly. Every movement sent a shudder of pain rippling through my body. “I’m fine. I’m okay.”

“I shouldn’t have asked. Come on. We need to get you inside.”

“Did you get him?” My involuntary laughter settled somewhat. “Tell me you got him.”

Michael nodded. “He’s dead. Come on.”

As he lifted me onto my feet and helped me hobble to the door, I kept laughing; even as tears collected and fell down my cheeks. The boy I’d lost my virginity to and the father of my unborn child _killed_ by my cousin. And all I wanted—in the world—was my brother.

.+.

**July**

Ada held up a bright red sweater set.

“Absolutely hideous.”

“ _Hey._ ” She placed the hanger back onto the rack. “I have something like this—”

“You should throw it in the bin.”

I’d come to London two weeks early to shop for my first semester at Victoria College. At a French boutique on Bond Street, we rifled through pastel dresses and sequined cravats.

“Don’t need any more dresses,” I mumbled. “The parcel from Paris will have twelve. What I need is sports’ wear and riding boots.”

“The other girls will wear new dresses every day and you’ll wish you had more. Trust me.”

I held up my hands. “We’re not going to find anything here. Let’s go.”

Out on the street, cars and buses bustled by. The air was full of smog and hazy sunlight filtered through the clouds. Our driver pulled up and I watched as Ada climbed inside.

“Aren’t you coming?” she asked.

“I need to stop by the library. It’s two blocks. I’ll walk. Send the car there once you’re home.” 

My sister nodded and shut the door.

.+.

Tommy’s present had stayed locked in a drawer for months. Sometimes, I would take the ring out of its case just to stare at the inscription:

_Не верь Майклу_

What could he have possibly said which hadn’t been said already? I would find out soon enough.

The London Library in St. James Square had an entire room dedicated to Russian literature and texts. A gilded balcony wrapped around the second story. From my vantage point, the first floor was a sea of red carpet with circular wooden tables floating across. A young man had taken up station at one of those tables, manila folders and black-and-white photographs spread out over the top.

The tome I carried down from the second floor was the _Oxford Essential Russian Dictionary_. Essential? Must’ve weighed at least eight pounds.

Commandeering a table near the window, I flipped through cursorily. A completely different alphabet, a completely different order.

_Не._

Looked like English, but… No. A participle meaning “not.” The auxiliary verb meaning… “Don’t.”

_верь._

A verb meaning “believe.” Don’t believe? The word could also mean… “Trust.”

_Майклу_

I couldn’t find the last word. The dictionary lacked an entry for _Майклу_.

“Excuse me?”

The young man across the way looked up from the photograph he’d been studying and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Me?”

I glanced around the empty room. “Who else?”

He smiled grimly. “What can I do for you?”

“Do you know any Russian?” It was worth a shot. Why else would he be in this room?

“A bit—”

My chair scraped as I pushed back from the table. Coming over, I held the ring out to him. “This one,” I said, pointing to the third word. “I can’t find it in the dictionary.”

He narrowed his gaze at the tiny lettering. “May I?” he asked, reaching out.

“No.”

Our eyes met.

“Okay. Hold it a bit closer.”

I obliged.

He _hmm’_ d.

“What? What is it?”

“It’s not a word you would find in a dictionary,” he said. “It’s a name. Michael.”

 _Click._ The pieces locked into place. _Don’t trust Michael_.

“Okay. Thank you.” I shoved the ring onto my finger.

“Are you married?”

When I glanced down and saw which finger I’d put the ring onto, I sighed. “No.”

“Strange.” The young man had returned to his photographs. “Even without the ring, you carry yourself like a married woman.”

Venturing back to my table, I asked: “How’s that?”

“Untouchable. An austere exterior and yet a burning inner life…”

“Are you a poet?” I shut the Russian tome.

He held up one of the pictures. “Photographer. I look at people for a living.”

As I went to pass by his table again, I sent an impartial glance over his work. He wasn’t the sort of photographer who took pictures of beautiful, scantily-clad women or natural landscapes. He was a war photographer. The bloodied faces and body-strewn battlefields in his photos shone with an unnatural sort of light. Like he might’ve been an angel come to take the souls of those men to heaven. Or hell.

“What do you think?”

I realized then he’d been watching my face. “Incredible.”

“Are you just saying that?”

“What reason would I have to lie?” Turning my back on him, I approached the staircase.

“Might I have your name?”

“Why?”

“In the event I might want to see you again.”

“In the event.” I laughed.

“My name is Robert. Robert Dalton-Kent. I’m a war photographer from Lincolnshire. Nice to meet you.”

Once I’d slipped the book back into its spot, I spun and placed my hands on the balcony rail. He was staring up at me with deep blue eyes. Waiting.

“My name is Anabel. Anabel _fucking_ Shelby. I’m a gangster from Small Heath. Nice to meet you, Robert.”

Then, I took my leave.

.+.

The driver had stopped at the four-way intersection of St. James Square to await a lumber lorry rolling by when I saw _it_. A poster. Better yet—a _confirmation_. Like destiny on a sheet of yellow paper. Bold words printed in black ink: **July 21 st, FIGHT NIGHT,** **Eton “Rowdy” Sheffield vs. Goliath**.

Twisting my ring around my finger, I bit down _hard_ on my tongue to keep from screaming.

.+.

When he opened the door to his bedroom, I was there, sitting in the dark.

Michael went still. “Ana?”

“The maid let me in,” I said. “The one you fuck who looks like me.”

“Margret.”

“ _Margret._ ”

“What are you doing here?” He set his jacket down onto a chair and went to kneel by the fireplace. The _scratch_ of striking matches ripped through the silence. “Thought you were staying with Ada. In London.”

“Came to see you. Who else?” The fire caught and started _crackling_. “Where were you?”

“Out.” Michael unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves. He still hadn’t taken his eyes off of the fire.

“Were you at the fight?”

His head whipped around on his neck, reminiscent of the owl in my dream. He said nothing.

“You lied to me.” My voice was low and _rough_. “Why?”

“Ana—”

“You told me he was dead.”

The night of my seventeenth birthday was a blur. Yet still, I could hear him saying the words: _He’s dead. Come on._

We’d huddled in the house and, after a short bath, I’d laid on the wooden floor of my old closet, staring up at the demarcations on the wall where Tommy kept track of my height. At four, I’d reached the first door hinge. At six, the handle. Nine to twelve, there were no markings because he’d been away at war. Thirteen, I was all the way to the second hinge. I stared at those marks until they were etched not only in the wood but also _my brain_.

Where would I measure now, at seventeen? Who would draw the line? Then Michael brought tea and I didn’t think about anything for a while. Not even Eton.

The ensuing months brought him back to my mind, occasionally. A creeping sickness pervaded my body whenever I thought of having carried his child. I never took off my paring knife, even to sleep. His instant of brutality had changed me in small yet permanent ways.

“I thought he wouldn’t make it far with the wound he had.” Michael yanked at the knot on his tie. “Thought he was as good as dead.”

“But you didn’t see him die…”

“No.”

“So, you lied.” As he went to reply, I shook my head. “No, no. Let’s leave that there. What else have you kept from me?”

If he could see my eyes burning in the low light, then he would know not to lie. He would know that to lie in this moment would be the end of him.

“I have ears in different places,” said Michael. “Word got back he was still alive. I paid him a visit.”

“To end things?”

“To speak business.”

I nodded. “Naturally.”

“It was you who gave me the idea, Ana.” Coming over, he knelt before my crossed legs. “You reminded me there’s nothing worse than being a slave to someone else’s will. So, I gave him one last choice. He could die by my hand for harming you or he could live as a kept fighter. Winning when we tell him to win and losing when we tell him to lose.”

“ _We?_ ” 

“I brought the proposition to Arthur and John. They liked the idea.”

“Did you tell them what he did to me?”

Michael sucked in a deep breath. “They wouldn’t have agreed.”

“You didn’t, then… One last question…” I leaned forward onto my forearms. “Where was your consideration for _me_ in all of this?”

He placed a gentle hand onto my knee. “He’ll live beholden to the Shelby’s—”

My paring knife slipped into my palm and I pressed the blade _flush_ against his neck. “Better he’d died unbeholden to anyone.”

Michael’s grey eyes did not waver from my face. “He’ll suffer for what he did to you, Ana. I promise you that.”

“This isn’t even a conversation, Michael. He’s a dead man. When I tell my brothers—”

“You can’t!” He pushed forward and a line of blood welled up against his skin.

“I _can._ ”

“If you tell them, it’ll be bad.”

“For business?”

“For me.” He squeezed my knee. “Please, Ana. Trust me. It’ll be better this way.”

 _Trust me_. My ring burned against my finger. How had Tommy known all those months ago? Before he’d even betrayed me?

My free hand came up to caress the side of his face. “You’ve done me a great disservice. More than that—you’ve broken my heart. Thoroughly, Michael. I can’t trust you now. I don’t want to see you dead. Not really.” I retracted the knife and slipped its tip back into its holder. “But I don’t want to see Eton _alive_ , either. You’ve put me in a difficult position.”

His hands fell to his sides as I stood. “What are you going to do?”

“Don’t worry. I won’t tell my brothers.”

“Ana—”

“Don’t speak to me again.” Pulling my coat around my midsection, I made my way to the door. “I don’t want to see you.”

“Tommy said—”

“Find a way to do your _job_ without me having to interact with you. Simple as that.”

“I’m sorry I deceived you.”

“Is that all?”

“What else is there?”

“Prioritizing business over my honor. Profiting off of the malicious man who hurt me. Lying to our family. Not to mention, quietly resenting me for being _unable to love you_ the way _you love me_.”

“I don’t resent—” He swallowed whatever lie he’d been about to tell. “I _yearn_ ,” he said. “When my mother convinces me to go to church with her, I pray for you. I ask God to give me you, Ana.” Michael ran a hand through his slick hair. “Blasphemous, I know. But I don’t care.”

“It’s been established quite well already. You _don’t_ _care_ , Michael. Otherwise, you’d never have done this. Keep praying,” I said, opening his door. “Come hell or high water, I’ll never be yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the elements of magical realism in this story. Exciting twists in the coming chapters. Let me know what you guys think is going to happen! Check back for updates periodically (or subscribe). Thanks for reading and I'll see you next time. 
> 
> xx Amelia_Earhart


	13. Bang, Bang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really appreciate the support for this story. I'm having so much fun writing. Hope you enjoy!

Spent three days ambling around Camden Town asking random passersby if they knew where I could find the closest bakery. Most said, _Oh, yeah, yeah. Go down Finch, turn left at Highbrooke. Shelley’s Sweets is down ‘ere, bakery’s ‘round da back._ Then, I’d ask: _What about Solomons’ bakery?_ They’d give this look. Say: _Don’t know nuffin ‘bout no Solomons’ bakery, Miss._ Then, leave.

Three days. No luck. With college in less than a week, I was running out of time.

“’Scuse me. Sir?” Day four had brought me to a wicked part of town. The buildings were either warehouses or factories. The river, nearby, spewed sulfur into the air. Viaducts trembled above. A homeless man, huddled next to a bin fire, glanced up at the sound of my voice. “Could I have your help?”

He blinked his bleary eyes. “What’s an angel doing ‘round these parts?”

“She’s lost. Needs to find Solomons’ bakery.” I stepped closer to the fire. “Do you know where—?”

“What business do you have at Solomon’s bakery?”

Turning, I found a broad man staring from across the street. He wore a small cap on the top of his skull. _Jewish._

“I’m in need of bread.”

The man grunted. “This way.”

As he left, the homeless man began grumbling. “Careful, Angel. Careful with these mens. Ain’t no good, they ain’t. No, no, no good.”

“I will. Thank you, Sir.”

.+.

“Olly. This young lady is here to see Mister Solomons. Says he knows her.”

The young man standing outside the door of the warehouse met my eye. “Name?”

“Anabel Shelby.”

“As in—”

“As in _Anabel Shelby_ , yes.”

He nodded. “This way, Miss.”

We left the lumbering man at the door. Olly lead us through a dim storeroom; barrels on either side stacked towards the ceiling. The acidic smell of baking bread made my nostrils flare.

“Through here.” Olly held open a door.

I was back in Alfie’s office. The fireplace laid cold and unlit. His chair, empty.

“Alfie is dealing with… A problem. He’ll be just a minute.”

“Okay.”

As soon as the door shut, I set down my satchel and went to work on a fire. Might as well be warm as I waited. Once I had the starter log going, I nosed around a few of the man’s drawers. _Unlocked? Not smart._ But then Alfie didn’t seem the sort to keep things hidden. Found a revolver in one drawer and a bag of lemon sherbets in another.

The minutes ticked by on a miniature grandfather clock in the corner. Soon enough, an hour had passed. Then, two. Nearly fell asleep.

“What are you doing in my _chair_?” a gruff voice asked.

I hadn’t heard the door open. Sitting up, blinking the sleep out of my eyes, I said: “Took you long enough.”

“Little chicken.” He lifted his cane off of the ground and pointed the iron shaft at me. “What’re you doing _in my_ _chair_?”

“The chair you have for guests is off-balance. I wouldn’t have been able to doze _._ ” As he came around his desk, I slipped past the other side.

“That’s purposeful. See, I like my guests to feel…” Alfie settled his great body onto his wooden seat. “ _Off-kilter._ ”

“Right.” The guest chair rocked beneath my weight.

His eyes floated over the office. “ _Hmm._ ”

“What?”

“You didn’t go snooping through my things, did you, Little Chicken?”

“’Course not.”

“Why does every word out of your mouth sound like a _lie_?”

“ _This is the punishment of the_ liar,” I said. “ _Even when he speaks the truth no one believes him._ ”

He lifted a single, bushy eyebrow. “You’ve read The Talmud?”

“A bit.” The fire had made the room warm. Unwinding my scarf from my neck, I thought of the book I’d borrowed from the Rabbinic texts section of The London Library for this exact moment. “I was inspired by the wonderful poetry in the Torah.”

Alfie regarded my open countenance with lidded eyes. “Why’re you _here_ , Little Chicken?”

“Revenge.”

“ _Biblical shit_.” Alfie nodded, held out his hands. “What can I do for you?”

“Your fighter, Goliath, went up against a boy… A _man_. Last week. In the ring. A man named Eton Sheffield.”

Alfie inclined his head. “’E did.”

“He lost, I heard. They’re scheduled to rematch in two months, no?”

Alfie grunted. “ _Yea._ ”

“Eton will lose the second match. He’ll lose because the Peakies will have collected heavy bets on his winning a second time. He’ll lose because they own him.”

Alfie brought a hand up to stroke his beard. “Why’re you telling me this?”

My fingertips brushed over the corner of my eye. A _twitch_ , perhaps, or a nervous habit I’d developed after Eton’s slaps. The muscle beneath my brow never seemed to relax.

“I want you to kill Eton.” One of the logs on the fire _cracked_ in half. “I have my reasons. Now you have yours.”

“You come all the way down to Camden Town, _yeah_ —my neck of the woods—to put a hit on your family’s man?” Alfie flexed his grip on his cane. For the first time, I noticed the blood dripping down his knuckles. “Tommy’s left— _what_ , he’s gone back to the fucking bush, _‘as he?_ —but Arthur and the other one ought to be able to scrape together their combined wits into a little—” He held out his hand, palm up. “—pitiful pile of competency.” Then blew air across his palm as though he were puffing away a mound of ash.

He’d sandwiched his genuine concern between his theatrics. _He wanted to know where Tommy was._

“I don’t know where my brother is, Mister Solomons,” I said, shaking my head. “Nor when he should return. He could be back in six months. He could be back tomorrow.”

“He could be back never,” Alfie added.

The mere thought set my blood ablaze. “In which case, I should still be in need of your assistance. My other brothers can’t help me with this.”

Alfie held my gaze for a short while without blinking. It was unnerving, as massive as he appeared, how _still_ he could become.

“Not in the killing business, as you can imagine, therefore the cost will be substantial,” he drawled.

“What do you want—?”

“Wrong. _Wrong_ , Little Chicken. Seems your brother has left you woefully unprepared for the art of arbitration. You never allow the provider to set the initial terms.” Alfie rolled his thick finger through the air. “Start again.”

“I—” My brain faltered for a number. “Five-hundred—?”

“I’ll stop you right there, Little Chicken. This is just _sad_. If I had a heart it’d be fucking breaking right now.”

“Seven-fifty—”

“Do you really want this Eton fellow dead or is this some sort of _practical joke_?”

“I want him dead as much as I want to be alive.”

“ _Right._ ” He grinned, flashing his gold crown. “Do it yourself then.”

“I can’t.”

“How’d you know?”

“I’ve tried before. To kill… Don’t have the gift.”

His bass chuckle rolled through the room. “ _Gift,_ mate? When you crush a spider beneath the heel of your boot, do you thank God? You mean to tell me when a horse smacks a fly with its tail, that’s _special?_ ” He cocked his head. “Ain’t a gift. Ain’t even a skill. ‘S an _act_. A blind act.”

“What do you want, Alfie? Name your price so I can go home.”

His gaze lost focus. “I want to have dinner with your sister.”

“Excuse me?” My eyes went popping out of my skull. “ _What?_ ”

“I want to have… _Dinner_. With your sister.”

“With _my_ sister?”

“Hmm.”

“Ada?”

“Hm.”

I sucked in a deep breath. “Absolutely not.”

“Why? What’s wrong wit’ me?”

“We don’t have all day, Alfie. Suffice to say, you’re a literal heathen.”

He nodded gravely. “That is _not false_.”

“In addition, my sister is not _Jewish_.”

“ _Goya_ ,” Alfie offered. “Didn’t ask to marry ‘er, did I?”

My mind was doing laps now. “What did you call her last time? _Shayna_ —”

“ _Shayna punim_.” Alfie smiled. “Pretty face.”

Had I not known, in my own way? Tommy was an idiot, through and through.

“What do you want with my sister?”

“Nothing untoward, Little Chicken. Might be a heathen—as well as a _damned_ sodomite—but I’ve a heart of gold. I would like to _feed_ her and _look_ at her. And perhaps, one day in the _hazy_ future, she can have my babies.”

“Is that all?” I exclaimed.

“Like I said, nothing untoward.”

Collecting my scarf from my lap and wrapping it around my neck, I stood. The off-balance chair teetered at the sudden movement. “Our aims are incompatible. Forgive me for wasting your time.”

“Debt forgiven, Little Chicken. Go forth in peace,” Alfie proclaimed, knocking his cane against the concrete floor. “I do hope you’ll grow the balls to kill your fellow soon.”

“Goodbye, Alfie.”

.+.

“Stand here.” My sister positioned me beneath the attic hatch, then went to grab a broom.

“Ada—”

“Take this.” She shoved the broom into my hands. “When I let down the door, be ready.”

“What’re we doing?”

“It’s Burglar. I heard him up there this morning.” With her brows lowered, her brown eyes appeared black. “We’re going to get him.”

“In that case…” I held up the broom. “I don’t need this.”

Two hours later, we had a bin bag dripping blood in the parlor.

“It’s getting on my _rug_ ,” said Ada. “That’s _silk_ , Ana.”

“Take it out then.”

“I can’t.” She fell back onto the couch. “I’m the one who killed him. You take it out.”

“You gave the fatal blow.” Gripping the top of the bag, I was tempted to squeeze the excess juice onto her floor. “I tired him out.”

Ada waved her hand. “Hurry, hurry.”

When I went out front to the bins, a prickling sensation tickled the back of my neck. A rapid evaluation of my surroundings revealed a black, Ford Model T parked on the street. Once back inside, I went to stand by the window and peer through the curtains.

“Who’s that parked outside your house, Ada?”

My sister ran a hand through her hair. “One of our brother’s many enemies?”

“What?”

She rose and came to stand by my side. “Every day. Every night. It’s part of why I came to stay with you and Tommy. Someone’s always watching.”

“You’re not scared anymore?”

“No.” Ada fixed her face into one of staunch composure. “They want to watch? Fine. Anything more than that, they’ll end up like Burglar.”

“Quite right, Ada… Quite right.”

That same night, I went out in my robe to stand by the window of the Ford Model T until the driver cranked the glass down. An older man—pale, with a long beard—stared back from the interior of the car.

“ _Shalom_ ,” I guessed.

“ _Shalom Aleichem_ ,” he replied.

“Tell your boss he has a deal. No dinner, but he’s welcome to have a walk around the park once his end is done. We’ll set the time and the day.”

The man nodded once. I went back inside.

He’d been watching her since King’s Heath. That or watching _over_ her… Couldn’t be sure with Alfie. All I knew was: convincing Ada to go for a walk in Hyde Park wasn’t half as hard as killing Eton myself.

.+.

My first week at Victoria College went off like the starting pistol at the Derby. First, silence. A loud _bang_. Then the pounding of hooves and raucous shouts.

Victoria wasn’t a finishing school like St. Mary’s down the street, nor was it a correspondence course for girls wanting to work as secretaries. We weren’t there to learn manners or typing. We were there to study, formulate original ideas and _articulate_ ourselves. But, if I’d thought a majority of my time would be spent in the library, I was mistaken.

Methuselah Hall, located behind the residences, was where the fifty-four young women attending Victoria College congregated. To converse. To rehash. To _gossip_.

“I heard something about you, Anabel. I want to know if it’s true.” Helena had approached with a small convoy of associates, all eager to observe our interaction.

Breaking off mid-conversation with my new friend, Stephé, I said: “I’ll tell you the truth. Ask away.”

“Is it true…” She dipped her head. “You come from a family of _gangsters_?” Her emphasis was cutting.

Mine was, too. “ _Yes._ ” As she swiveled her head to make eyes at the girls behind her, I lit a cigarette. “Anything else?”

Helena tucked a finger coil of blonde hair behind her ear. “You must be aware of the immorality of your being here. It seems almost _gauche_ to remind you.”

Milky smoke poured out of my mouth only to streamline back up my nose. At least Michael was good for something. Helena was facing my direction and therefore couldn’t see how her “friends” were following my every movement. She’d given them their newest fantasy on a silver platter without even realizing.

“Your father does import/export, no? Textiles?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.

“Yes. He worked hard his entire life to be able to send me here,” she said. “An honest man doing honest work.”

“An honest man doing honest work… Right…” My head bobbed. I shot a grin over at Stephé. “He buys a pound of raw cotton picked by indentured servants in the West Indies for twenty-three pence. The workers in his factories process the cotton. They’re paid, _what_ , eleven pence an hour? If it’s a kid, let’s say seven. He turns around and sells the finished fabric at six pounds per yard. With a production cost of thirty-four pence, that’s a… _One-thousand six-hundred and sixty-five percent mark-up._ Sounds fair. Sounds honest.”

A ghost could’ve slipped between Helena and her entourage as the rest of the girls stepped back.

“That’s,” Helena faltered. “That’s ridiculous.”

“If you can’t follow my math just say so. Otherwise… You must be aware of the immorality of your being here. Seems almost _gauche_ to remind you.”

Believe it or not, that wasn’t the _bang_. The _bang_ came later. That was only the beginning of my reputation; and, as all reputations do, mine preceded me. The other girls wanted to know if I’d held a gun, seen a man die, been caught in a shootout with the police, met any film stars, laid with a man, done drugs. They wanted to know if I could introduce them to film stars, familiarize them with rough men, give them drugs, etcetera.

Word got back to me on Friday morning I was meant to be escorting a group of girls to a club in Camden called _The Odd Eye_.

“Since when?”

Stephé shrugged her lithe, boyish shoulder. “Since they found out the club is frequented by—their words, not mine— _button men_.”

“Killers for hire?”

“Chopper squads, too, apparently.”

I’d laughed, but with an edge. Those girls were eager for events they couldn’t comprehend, hoping desperately for a night they might tell their friends back home about. And they thought _I_ , Anabel Shelby, would shield them from any _real_ danger. _I_ , Anabel Shelby, who already lived _steeped_ in danger.

“Why the fuck not?” I said.

.+.

We rolled up to _The Odd Eye_ at six past seven in rented taxis. Eight girls wearing beaded dresses and stockings and feathered headpieces, like a bunch of hens. Jazz filtered out onto the street and made a few of the girls go crazy.

Linking her arm with mine, Stephé asked: “We’re ditching them as soon as we’re inside, right?”

“Why not now?”

In the low light, _The Odd Eye_ was leagues—no, _fathoms_ —better than _The Garrison_. The floors were clean, made of sparkling marble. Provocateurs danced in gilded cages and the band had their own raised dais on which to perform. There was even a hostman.

“Ladies. Do you have a reservation for a table?” The hostman wore a tux with a white rose tucked into his coat pocket.

“No,” I said. “We’ll sit at the bar.”

“Ladies aren’t served at the bar unless they’re accompanied.”

“Will we be served at a table?” Stephé asked.

“Yes.”

“Then we’ll take a table.”

“Do you have a reservation?”

“This a club or a fucking hotel?” I asked.

“I’m afraid I cannot seat you without a reservation,” the hostman said.

Ordinarily, I would’ve just gone somewhere else. Plenty of places to drink liquor and flirt with men. Except, I could feel the eyes of those girls—those girls who thought I possessed a sort of superpower—and I had no desire to relent.

Casting my gaze around the establishment, I settled on an opportunity.

“There. That man,” I said, pointing past several packed tables at a man who’d just turned his back. “He’ll escort us to the bar.”

“Do you have his name?”

“Robert Dalton-Kent.”

The hostman flagged down a waiter. The waiter ventured into the sea of crystallized bodies and returned towing the stranger. He wasn’t wearing his glasses. _Huh_.

“Are you the escort for these young women?” the hostman asked.

Robert squinted at each of us. He was in the process of shaking his head when his eyes met mine. They crackled with recognition.

“Hello,” he said. “Again.”

“Hello. I need another favor.”

“Charming.” _Cha-ming._ His Lincolnshire, east country accent slipped through, contrasting his lustrous appearance. “Now then, what can I do for you?”

“This group of hens needs a cock,” I said. “You willing?”

The hostman averted his gaze. Stephé laughed under her breath. Robert… Well, Robert merely held out his hand and said: “Lead the way.”

.+.

He bought the first round of gin and tonics. Straight gin for me.

“Like it’s water, eh?”

“What’s that?”

Instead of raising his voice over the music, he pointed to my empty glass.

“ _Oh._ Yeah.”

His eyes lingered for a moment. Then, without warning, he dipped down to whisper in my ear. “Still not married?”

My ring glittered and flashed with abandon. I should’ve kept the exorbitant stone locked up somewhere, but the truth was: I hadn’t taken the damn thing off since deciphering Tommy’s code. It was the closest thing I had to a letter.

“Still not married,” I said.

“Good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-six. How old are you?”

“None of your business.”

Robert tapped the bottom of his glass against the bar top. “My guess…? Seventeen.”

I kept my expression neutral. “How’s that?”

He moved his face closer to mine. Rich, musky cologne wafted up from his collar. “The amount of collagen in your cheeks. The fine, fine lines on the bridge of your nose.” He tapped my nose with his finger and my lips broke into an involuntary smile at the unexpected action. “I look at people for a living, remember?”

“No, I forgot. What is it you do?” I held up a finger to signal another drink. “Family portraits?”

Robert laughed. “Sometimes.”

Though there was nothing in his tone to suggest this, I knew he was being morbid. He was referring to instances where brothers died together on the battlefield—their corpses draped over one another like shrouds. How easily those might’ve been _my_ brothers once… Yet, his morbidity set me at ease.

“Your friends have gone to dance. Would you like to join them?” Robert offered his hand.

Only when I placed my palm onto his did I feel the heft of the diamond I wore. For a _long_ second—a second which seemed more like three or four seconds—time crawled. My eyes flickered up and landed over Robert’s shoulder.

There, at the other end of the bar, stood Eton Sheffield.

Unaware. Drinking. Laughing. Surrounded by sycophants. _He’ll suffer for what he did to you, Ana. I promise you that._ He sure looked to be suffering now.

As Robert led us through the well of bodies, I worked to keep my own relaxed. Should I take out my knife? Kill him in front of everyone? Assuming I could… Or should I run?

In the end, I _danced_.

Robert cut loose while I merely kept up. The Fox Trot. The Lindy Hop. The Shimmy. Thank God the band took a break before he broke his knees on the Charleston.

“Out of your head now, ain’t you?”

Speckled moisture had collected along my brow. “And liable to be sore come tomorrow.”

“Nothing wrong with a little soreness.” And, once again, though there was nothing in his tone to suggest he was being suggestive, I knew he was.

“ _Ana!_ ”

The boisterous shout came from behind. Turning, I found Eton weaving through the crowd, his bright eyes pinned on mine. Further back, beyond the boxer, a shadowy man in a black coat moved steadily forward.

“Who’s that?” Robert asked.

“I need to go.” Time was moving slow again. _One… Two… Three_. Eton was almost here. “I need to—”

 _Bang._ The pounding of hooves and raucous shouts. The club erupted into chaos. Robert was tugging my hand, pulling us back, back, back.

On the floor, Eton lay dying. A single shot spurting blood from the back of his head.

.+.

In the commotion, I’d allowed Robert to shepherd us to a black Bentley stationed behind the club.

“This your car?”

“My friend’s,” he said. “Are you alright? There’s blood.”

Looking down, I found a bright smattering of droplets on my dress. “’S not mine. Don’t worry.”

“Did you know the fellow?” Robert asked. “He said your name before he…”

“I did.” Felt good to tell the truth. For once. “He was my first.”

“Your… first?”

“ _Hmm…_ Now he’s dead.”

“Do those two things have anything to do with each other?”

My head lolling to one side, I observed him from beneath lidded eyes. “And if they did?”

“I’m not scared of death, Anabel _fucking_ Shelby.” He gave a lopsided grin. “I am Death’s chronicle, after all.”

With haste, I propelled myself onto his lap. His hands came up to rest on my thighs, above my stockings.

“I’m done talking now,” I said.

“Me too.”

.+.

Hyde Park was cloaked in wavering bands of early morning fog. Karl walked into a steaming puddle and kicked up clumps of mud.

“Not many people out this morning.” Ada set down the picnic basket on a dry spot. “This was a good idea.”

Quickly snatching Karl before he could sit down in the dirt, I ferried him over to his mother. “Glad you think so.”

“There’s really no one,” she said, glancing through the lush trees.

“Well, it’s wet, Ada.” _Would he have cleared the park?_ “As well, I imagine people are at church about now.”

“Not us.”

“Never us.”

“Here.” She placed a sandwich wrapped in cloth onto my lap. “Ham.”

“No cheese?”

“If you wanted cheese, you should’ve packed the food.”

A ghostly _bark_ echoed through the park.

“Do you like cheese, Karl?” I asked, leaning over to pinch at his cheeks. “Do you think your mum should’ve packed cheese?”

He mumbled an unintelligible string of vowels, then grabbed my sleeve and yanked.

“Stop trying to turn my baby against me,” Ada said.

“No need. He already loves me more.”

“Does not.”

“Shall we test this out?”

“Ana.”

“We’ll put him in the middle and see which one he goes to—”

“ _Ana._ ”

“What?”

Ada was staring through the trees again. “Why is Alfie Solomons here?”

Following her gaze, I found the man approaching. He brought with him the sunlight—golden shafts fell through the clouds, illuminating his path. At his side, a large dog kept pace.

“ _Huh._ What’s he doing here?”

“Ana.”

I sighed. “Alright. I need a favor.”

Ada slapped the back of my neck.

“Just listen! You’re going to walk around the park with him. That’s it. One time and you’re done.”

“Ana!”

“Consider it a matter of life and death.”

“Your death, I hope.”

“He’s been protecting you since King’s Heath, Ada. He’s the reason you’re safe in London. I needed his help and he agreed, but only because of you. If you don’t do this, I don’t know what will happen.”

Alfie was close. His lumbering form moved swiftly, even _with_ the cane.

“Fine,” my sister said, packing the food back into the basket.

“Really?”

“You’re worse than Tommy,” Ada muttered. “But fine.”

Her words hit home. This _was_ something Tommy would do: Make a deal and then expect everyone around him to fall in line.

“’Ello,” said Alfie.

Ada smiled up at him. “Hello.”

His dog came over and sniffed Karl’s neck. The boy giggled.

“That ‘ere is Cyril. Don’t mind ‘im, darling. ‘E just ate.”

Ada rose to her feet. “Shall we go?”

“Aye.” Alfie nodded. “Bring the boy. Locomotion’s good for his lit’l bones.” He whistled and Cyril abandoned Karl. My nephew followed after the dog.

“Fifteen minutes.” I removed a timepiece from my pocket and held up the face. “And counting.”

“ _Right_ , Little Chicken.” Alfie held out his arm. “ _Shayna punim_. After you.”

Karl had already run off with Cyril. After one last backward glance, Ada took his arm.

.+.

“Ana! Ana!”

That evening, a gaggle of girls descended upon my reading spot at Methuselah.

“Yes?” I abandoned the poetry book I was perusing in order to squint up at them. “Can I help you?”

“There’s—there’s a man outside looking for you.”

“He’s handsome,” said the shortest girl. “Is he your brother?”

“Please say he’s your brother,” another begged.

 _My brother?_ I dared not even think the thought.

“Where is he?”

Outside the doors to Methuselah Hall, the world was dark. My eyes scanned the courtyard, searching for a lean shadow.

“Ana.”

His voice came from my right. Before I’d even turned, I knew I’d been wrong. “What are you doing here? I told you I didn’t want to see you.” 

Michael emerged from the shade.

“Needed to talk to you.”

“You here about your fighter?”

“No.”

Two girls, arm-in-arm, lingered outside to observe us for a moment. Half of Michael’s face was illuminated by light from the hall. The corner of his mouth pulled down. When the onlookers had left, he stepped forward.

“It’s Tommy.”

The words stuck in my throat. They didn’t want to come. “What about Tommy?”

Michael paused, turned his face away from the light. “He’s dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"Bang, bang. He shot me down. Bang, bang. I hit the ground. Bang, bang. That awful sound. Bang, bang. My baby shot me down."_
> 
> Thanks for reading! Be sure to let me know what you think below. I'll see you for this next chapter (which is going to be a *doozy*). Watch out! 
> 
> xx
> 
> Amelia_Earhart


	14. Alone, Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reactions to the last chapter were *super* entertaining! I took my time with this one because there were so many moving parts. Thanks for being patient. Hope you enjoy!

As Michael sped down the streets of Birmingham in the dark, the body of the car shook. _R_ _attled_ like the wheels might fall off.

_God. I don’t know my Hail Mary’s or anything like that… And I really shouldn’t be asking anything of you, given what I’ve done… But, please._

“I wouldn’t lie about something like this,” Michael muttered.

_Do not let my brother be dead._

“Speak to me again before we’re home and I swear on my mother’s grave—I’ll take a knife to you.” My voice grated over the gritty atmosphere like sandpaper. “You won’t make a liar of me today, Michael.”

For his own sake, he kept silent.

The headlights carved a pale swath through the nightscape like an ivory blade through black sand. My eyes were wide open, trained on the road. No more dreams. No more omens. I would know the truth and _soon_.

Upon arriving at Watery Lane, I leapt from my seat before the wheels came to a full stop.

“Ana!” Michael called.

Vaulting the front steps, I forced open the door. My family—strewn about the parlor which now seemed inadequately sized to fit them all—boiled alive in an unearthly quiet.

“Where’s Finn?” I asked, out of breath.

“E’s back at the manor,” said Arthur, staring out of the window.

“He should be here.” I glanced around. John and Esme were bunched together on the loveseat. Polly smoked a cigarette by the fire. Ada was curled up on the floor. Michael stood sentry at the door. “Shouldn’t he?”

“We’ll tell him when we know what the bloody hell is going on.” Polly dipped her chin. “Alright, Arthur. We’re all here. Tell us what’s been said.”

My eldest brother scratched the back of his head. His eyes still hadn’t left the window. “There’s been news of… Of, _uh_ …”

“Pull it together, Arthur.” John cleared his throat. “What’d you hear?”

“He was coming home, ‘e was. That’s what I heard… Boarded the boat from Denmark. They was halfway out the bay when KGB caught up to ‘im. Thought he’d helped the Reds bomb the train in St. Petersburg… ‘E knew what those bastards would do to ‘im. Torture ‘im. Pull out his fingernails. Electrocute ‘im—”

“That’s quite enough details, Arthur.” Polly passed a shaky hand over her forehead. “What happened next?”

“He’d kept a cyanide pill, like those government spies. A Brummy on board said he saw ‘im take the pill and... Jump.”

“Over the side?” John asked.

“Yeah. Tommy… _Our brother_ … ‘E done it ‘imself.”

_Explosions. Blood on teeth. Water in lungs._ My dreams from after my operation were coming back, one by one.

“That’s ‘ _orrible_ ,” Esme muttered. “’E’s just… _gone_ , is ‘e?”

“The dock workers pulled a body out of the water. It’s on its way.”

My attempt to pace in the cramped space was unsuccessful. “It’s not him.”

Polly caught my eye. “What makes you say that?”

“My brother— _our_ brother—is not dead.” _He can’t be_. “Don’t care what some Brummy said he saw.” _Don’t care what_ I _saw._ “He’s not fucking dead.”

“Ana.” Ada stared up from the floor with tears in her eyes. “No one wants this.”

“Shut up, Ada. Don’t want to hear your fucking voice right now.”

My sister recoiled at the sharpness of my words.

“Go on.” Polly flicked her cigarette into the fire. “Be a _viper_. Be a _spider_ , Ana. That’s what we need right now.”

“We’re supposed to take some Brummy’s word?” I asked. “It’s Tommy.”

“She ain’t wrong,” John agreed. “We need to see the body.”

“When will the corpse arrive?” Polly asked.

“Tomorrow night. It’ll come through the wharf.” Arthur was shrinking in on himself with every word. “Land at Charlie’s yard.”

“And if it’s him?” Ada asked.

For several beats, no one took the lead.

“If it is him,” Michael said, “no one can know.”

When I turned to face him, a barrier of calm blunted his features. He was hiding himself behind a mask. “Why not?”

“ _It’s bad for business._ ” He and John said the words at the same time.

“Our enemies should continue to believe he’s alive, regardless. If it is him…” The fine lines around Polly’s tired eyes deepened as she closed them. “We’ll hold funeral rites in three days under cover of darkness. Just us. Until then, no one _bathes_ , _shaves_ , _comb_ s, or _eats_. You can drink coffee and liquor, but that’s it. Understood?”

“We done this before, Aunt Pol.” The look in John’s eyes was far gone. “Our mother’s funeral, remember?”

“Better than you, boy. Better than you.”

.+.

The family dispersed. John and Esme went back to their kids. Polly and Michael returned to their home. Arthur went to the shipping yard to ensure the secrecy of the corpse’s arrival, while Ada took a sleeping Karl to pick up Finn from the manor.

Which left only myself. At home. Alone.

An hour before sunrise, I dressed in men’s pants, collected my hair into a peaky cap and slipped out of the house. The morning air, brisk and dry, smelt of burning coal.

Small Heath, like a rotten peach, worsened as you approached the interior. The streets skewed. The roads cracked. Old clothes, wooden crates, broken bottles and busted tires littered the walkways in front of buckling houses. _This_ was the heart of my brother’s empire. My home. 

_This_ was where the fortuneteller lived. 

After knocking thrice on her red door, I waited. A white cat rubbed it’s side along the corner of the house. The door pulled back and an old woman in a black robe stood  under neath the awning . 

“It’s early. That’ll be extra.” Her voice was rough from a lifetime of smoking.

“Okay.” 

“You have money?”

I shook my hand inside my pocket.  T he  _tinkling_ of coins sounded. 

“Come. Come, _micul meu văzător_ _._ I can tell you carry a heavy burden.” She stepped aside, allowing my entry. 

_My little seer_ , she’d called me. 

“Thank you.”

Her home was dark. Similar to Polly’s, the windows were draped over with fabric. There was no fire. The only light came from candles. I felt colder, if it was possible, standing in her parlor than I had out on the street.

“Sit. Sit, my dear. You are making the spirits nervous. Relax.”

There was a small table with two chairs. She took one side and I took the other. Resting on the tabletop were a trinket box and a half-empty glass of tea.

“The other side speaks to you. Why should you come here?” She held out her withered hands. “Tell Myrsha why you have come.”

I shook my head.

“Wary, _ah_?” Her black eyes roved my face. “You want Myrsha to prove herself to you.”

“I believe in your power. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have come,” I said. “I can’t tell you the reason why I’m here...”

“Okay.” Shrugging, Myrsha opened the trinket box and removed a small bag. When she flipped the bag over, shards of white bone came tumbling out onto the table. “ _Hmm._ ”

I kept silent as she studied the mess.

“You have been separated,” she said. “From the one you love?”

The breath fell out of my lungs, as though someone had opened a hatch. “Yes…”

“You want to know if he will return to you?”

“Yes…”

Myrsha swiveled her head. “Were you not given a promise?”

“What?”

“Some sort of promise.” She squinted at the bones.

My mind doubled back on itself. _If I die, I’ll stick around and haunt you._ _If I live, I’m coming back here to make you my wife._

“But will he come back alive or dead?” I asked.

“Does it matter?”

“It does.”

Myrsha took my hand. Her freezing flesh was a shock to the senses. Made me sit up in my chair. She studied my palm. “Great love. All your life.”

“ _All_ my life?”

“From birth… ‘til death.” When she met my eye, there was something new in her gaze. Knowledge, perhaps. “Who is this one you love?”

“Why?”

“He is a favorite of the gods.”

Huffing a laugh, I said: “Figures.”

“You keep yourself safe, my dear. Many hands... Many, many hands. Tugging. Trying to have a piece of you.”

.+.

The following night, the family returned to the parlor at Watery Lane to await Arthur’s return from the shipping yard. Each car which passed by our street sent a spirit of paralyzing fear through the room.

“What if it’s him?” Finn whispered, low enough only I could hear him.

I shook my head. “No, Finn.”

“What if—?”

“ _Hush now._ ” I wrapped my arm around his head and squeezed him into my shoulder. “ _Hush._ ”

He stayed there, tucked in the crook of my arm like he was no more than a babe and ceased asking his questions. The questions we were all asking on the inside. _What if he’s gone? What will that mean for us?_

Tommy was our anchor. Our north. Our  bread. Our brains. He was the gasoline. The lit match. He was  _everything_ . 

Most of all… Most particularly, for me… He was my only love.

The doorknob twisted—rusted metal _scraped_ wood. We stood, all of us. As soon as Arthur’s form was revealed, we saw the cap bunched in his fist. We saw the canyon crease between his brows. We saw him falter as he stepped into the parlor, his dumb feet refusing to carry him. 

And we knew. 

Tommy was dead. 

.+.

After barricading myself in his old room, I tore through his drawers. His closet was a measly cupboard, only a foot deep and stripped bare. Nothing beneath his bed.

_Come on_.

I checked the nook above the fireplace and my fingers alighted upon a fabric bundle. The cloth left my fingertips covered in soot, but I’d found what I was looking for:

Tommy’s opium.

Rolling a bead of wax the way I’d seen in the _Sunny Days_ film, I held the end of the pipe to an open flame and breathed potent smoke into my lungs for the first time. The effect was immediate.

The death shroud remained, but bodily discomfort fled. The hairs along my arms raised. The weight pressing against my flesh abated. Instantaneously and irrevocably, I was lost to the world.

My thoughts came in short, disconnected bursts.

_My brother_ … _would never_ … _leave me_.

_Great love… All my life… From birth… Until death…_

I imagined a great telegraph line from my brain to Tommy’s, wherever he was. My thoughts were etched in dots and dashes.

_You can’t… leave me... here._

Three times now, he’d gone his own way and left me behind. Would this make a fourth?

Slumped against the metal railing at the foot of Tommy’s bed—my eyes open and unseeing—I felt his ring dragging me down, down, down. Into the floor. That’s where my impromptu trip descended. _Hell_. Blackened, boiling tar pits. Fibrous wings. My brother walking alongside the devil, holding his hand. I kept calling out to him— _Tommy! Tommy!_ —but he wouldn’t turn around.

There was someone knocking on the door.

“Ana…”

_Don’t go with him… Don’t go. Please!_

“Ana. _Wake up._ ”

“Tommy!” My eyelids shuddered open.

“It’s me,” he said. “It’s Michael.”

“Get out… _Get out,_ ” I groaned.

“You can’t sleep down here.” He placed his hands underneath my arms to lift my body.

“No!” I slapped at him. “Stop!”

“Ana—Ana, let me—Please—”

“ _No_. _No…_ ”

He didn’t listen. Though I struggled, Michael eventually deposited me onto the bed. He did not, however, remove his hands.

“You’re ready to follow him.” His face was close enough I could feel the heat of his breath on my cheek. “I can see it in your eyes.”

“He’s not dead.” I strained beneath his grip. “He’s not—”

“Arthur says he is,” Michael whispered. “Tommy. Your Tommy… _Gone._ ” 

I was a little girl again. Stubborn. Squeezing my eyes shut to the truth. The tears came quick and hard. They fell down the sides of my face. Michael leaned over to kiss the wetness away.

Tommy’s voice, angry and adamant, echoed through my brain: _You’ll have everything you want in this life. Don’t ever give it up. You hear me?_

But what if _he_ was everything I wanted in this life? What then?

“You’re right…” I said. “I’ll go, too.”

“Ana—”

“You’ll never know what that feels like.” I sent my knee into Michael’s groin. He keeled over onto his side with a groan. “To have someone love you that much.” I stumbled off of Tommy’s bed. “Good night.”

.+.

The abnormal funeral only served to make things worse. There should’ve been hoards of people to mourn him— h e wh o’d been a giant among men. All of Birmingham should’ve been present, in black-and-red garments, to lament. 

Instead, it was just us. 

Curly hitched two horses to the wagon hearse and parked the wooden contraption in the same field where we’ d celebrated John’s wedding.  We took turns hanging his possessions on the outside. 

Arthur had had the boys at the yard nail the door shut. Presumably because the three-day mourning period had given his body time to bloat. Whenever I went up to hang one of his ties—or socks, or suspenders—I fought the urge to rip those nails out with my bare hands. To join him. 

Once his most used possessions were deposited, everyone was given a chance to speak. 

“ _My brother…_ ” Arthur rubbed at his red eyes. “You survived those godforsaken tunnels… Kimber. Sabini. Those _mad hat fucking Russians_ … Until the end.” A steady stream of tears coursed down his cheeks. “Birmingham will always remember the name Tommy Shelby.” 

Esme squeezed John’s arm. He sniffled and pursed his lips. 

“Don’t really know what to say,” John began. “You wasn’t supposed to die, Tom. Not like this. You’re the smart one, eh? The big man? Don’t understand why it wasn’t one of us—”

“None of that,” Esme chastised. 

“You know what I meant.” His eyes roved the black sky. No stars. “Don’t wanna know life with only two brothers.” He hung his head. “Ain’t fucking right…” 

Ada was next. Her dark hair hung in her face, oily and limp. “ _Tom_ ,” she said, indignant. “All the times I tell you to leave me  alone —let me have me own life—now you listen?” She loosed a shrill sound from her throat. “ If you weren’t dead, I’d kill you myself…  How’s Karl going to know ‘is Uncle, huh? His uncle who…  w ho loved him.”

Her bright eyes turned to mine in the dark. 

I shook my head. 

“ _Ana._ ” 

“Go on,” said John. 

“Speak,” Arthur prompted. 

“ _Can’t_ ,” I croaked. 

“You’ll feel regret if you don’t speak,” Polly said. Her voice came from behind us. “Trust me.” 

The look in their eyes told me they understood how hard it was, but… They’d done it. Therefore,  _so could I_ . 

Reaching down deep into my chest for a measure of calm, I  forced the mangled  words ou t of my mouth .

“I don’t understand… Why, Tommy? _I told you not to fucking go!_ ” Wherever he was—heaven or hell or the rotting corpse lying inside of that wagon—he could hear my guttural screams. “ _I told you this would happen!_ But Thomas _fucking_ Shelby… He doesn’t listen to anybody… You made promises. A lot of ‘em. And I’m going to hold you to every one, yeah? _Every single fucking one._ ” 

Once I went silent , Finn added a short: “I’ll miss you, Tommy.” 

Then Polly stepped forward. 

“You were your mother’s son. If she were alive, she’d be proud to see all you’ve done. _Go_. Don’t linger here. We’ll be fine.” This last part was addressed more to us, than him. “Take care, Thomas, and may God have mercy on your soul.” 

“You’ll be missed,” Michael muttered.

Together, the remaining Shelby siblings carried a lit torch and held the burning end underneath the wagon until the dry timber caught. Then we watched as our brother burned. 

As the wood cracked and splintered—the flames reaching toward s the sky—his primary promise became clear.  The one the fortuneteller spoke about. The one he’d made before all the others.

I closed my eyes. Beneath my lids, the fire was a red glow. In my mind, I was sixteen again, sitting up in bed. I could almost feel his hand on my stomach, his eyes on my face, as I told him about my dream.

_I knew as long as you were alive, I would be safe._

_As long as I’m alive, you will be._

When I opened my eyes again, a great column of smoke loomed over the fir e .  W h atever barrier  previously  existed between myself and death also  dissipated into the night. 

I was exposed. Vulnerable.

Alone, now. 

.+.

**November**

The radiator in the common area of the girls’ residence _buzzed_ a hollow song. Amidst leather chairs and wooden tables, I read Ridler. Friday evenings the girls went out on the town. That, or took the train back to their old homes. Even Stephé had gone. 

_ Ring. Ring. Riiiiiiiiiing.  _

It was the communal telephone. Shrill and loud. Golden and black. Hung on the wall by the door. 

I didn’t glance up from my book. 

_ Ring. Ring. Riiiiiiiiing.  _

A second-year—Gretchen or Elizabeth from my Advanced Arithmetic class—wandered down the stairs. She collected the phone from it’s hook before it could ring again. “Hello?” She listened for a moment. Gave a _mmm._ “Yes.” Then, turned. “Ana?” 

I flipped a page in my book. “Who is it?”

“Your brother.” 

I went still. “Excuse me?” 

“He wants to talk to you.” She held out the phone. 

My palms began to sweat. _Stop that_ , I told my body. _It’s probably_ _Finn_ _. Or John._ I set down my book and stood. 

“Here you go,” Gretchen (or Elizabeth) said, handing over the receiver. 

“Thank you.” 

“Welcome.” She lingered as though she might stay in the common room. 

“What’s your name?” I asked. 

“Tabitha.” 

_ Ah _ . “See you in Arithmetic, Tabitha.” I  waved my hand in farewell. 

She nodded  and m ade for the staircase. 

“Hello.” I held my breath as I waited for an answer. 

“Hello,” said Robert. 

My hand clenched at my side. “Why would you do that? Why would you say you were my brother?” 

“Anything else would be improper, no? I don’t want to cause issues for you there,” he reasoned. 

“Then why call in the first place?” 

“It’s Friday.” 

“And?”

“And, Ana, you would usually be _here_ at this time on a Friday,” he said. “With me.” 

“I can’t today.” 

“Why not?” 

“It’s my brother’s birthday.”

“Oh.” He paused. “You’re celebrating with him?” 

“It’s my dead brother’s birthday.” 

“ _Oh…_ My foot-in-the-mouth really is terminal. Forgive me. I shouldn’t have said—”

“I can’t be with you today. That’s it.” 

“What will you do instead, huh? Drink? Be sad?” 

“Same as any other night.” 

“Are you sad when you’re with me?” 

“If that were the case, I wouldn’t be with you.”

“Then let me make you feel better.”

“I can be quite mean when I’m upset.” 

“As if I don’t already know this.” Robert laughed. “Still. Come.” 

“Maybe.” I set the receiver back onto its base. 

.+.

“You came.” 

Judging by the smell wafting from his open door, he’d run a bath. Rose hip oil… Salt s …  _ W _ _ est End Blues _ ,  the latest Louis Armstrong record, played lowly. 

“You knew I would, didn’t you?” 

“I hoped.” 

“Can I come in?” 

Robert stepped back and I entered his flat.  He kept everything just so. The p l ace wasn’t large enough to be anything other than cozy. His bed occupied the same space as the kitchen, which occupied the same space as the bath. A true _ studio _ . 

All over the walls, his photographs glistened in their glass frames. 

“Wine or beer?” He helped with my coat, then hung the fabric on a rack. 

“Beer,” I said, venturing over to the dozen or so miniature photos hung up by his bed. “Thanks…” 

“What was his name?” 

“Huh?” 

“Your dead brother.”

Scented steam thickened the air. I plucked one of the photos from it’s nail. “Thomas.”

There was a distinct  _ hiss _ as he cracked open my beer. “Ah.” 

“What?” 

“Tommy.” I felt his presence behind my shoulder. He held out the beer. “You’ve said his name before. In your sleep.” 

“ _Hmm._ ” 

“Your favorite?” He pointed to the picture in my hand. 

“This is Somme, right?” The black-and-white composition depicted a single gaunt face, darkened with dirt, staring out of a confined space. “The tunnels?”

Robert’s eyes swept over my face. “Correct. How’d you—?”

“My brothers fought at Somme. They were _sappers_. Tunnelers.” _Nearly lost their minds, as well as their lives._ “They fought at Verdun. Mons, too.” 

“Dangerous works, that is.”

“Came home broken, inside and out… Not to worry, though. They were given medals for their sacrifice.” _Medals which now sit at the bottom of the Cut._

“Which medals?” 

“For Tommy? Both the Military Metal and the Medal of Distinguished Conduct.” 

“Distinguished Conduct?” Robert whistled lowly. “Only get one of those when you’ve saved thousands of lives.” 

“Quite right.” 

“Your brother sounds like he was a good man.” 

I  set down the picture and, pulling the hem,  slipped my dress over my head. “He wasn’t.” 

Robert held out his hand  to take the slip of fabric. “No?” 

“Extraordinary? Yes.” I pushed my slip over my shoulders, thus baring my chest. “Good? _No._ My brother didn’t have any use for good.” 

“Here.” Robert took my hand and lead us over to the bath. “Relax.”

A s he left to switch the record, which was now skipping, I stepped into the warm water.  M y body sank down. I hummed a scant tune under my breath.

_ Sweetest Anabel. Like the roses in June, I hope she’ll smile soon. My sweetest, sweetest Anabel.  _

“Louder, if you will.” 

“I won’t,” I replied, slipping into repose. 

“I have this suspicion you’d sing beautifully.” He laid the needle onto the record and airy jazz blew from the speaker. “If only you weren’t afraid.” 

“I’m not afraid to sing.” 

“You are,” he said, picking up his camera and coming to sit at the end of his bed. “You’re afraid of so many things.” 

I ran my fingers over the surface of the water. “You’re wrong.” 

“Am I?” He brought the bulky contraption up to his eye. “You drink before you go to sleep because you’re afraid to dream. You lie because you’re afraid of the truth. You don’t sing because you’re afraid I’ll see another side of you. The soft side. The _girl_.” 

“How wise,” I drawled. 

“How sad,” Robert muttered. He squeezed the attachment and the blinding bulb went off. “How beautiful.” 

I turned my face toward the window. “You’re welcome.”

He smiled. “I think I’ll marry you.” 

“You think, eh?” 

Robert set his camera down and leaned his forearms onto his knees. “I’ve never met anyone who understood,” he said. “Really, truly understood my work.” 

The first time I came to Robert’s studio, it’d been to fuck. Simple. When I saw his photographs on the walls—full of chaos and death—I felt overwhelmed.  _ Here _ was the truth of the world.  _ Here _ were my dreams, depicted in form and shadow. 

Corpses piled high in shallow pits. Smoking fields blown to bits. Chain fences and barbed wire. Trenches stuffed with men. The _claustrophobia_ , the _despair_ written on their faces.

He’d captured something  _real_ , unmistakably. 

“That’s why you’d marry me, sure, but why would I marry you?” I asked. 

“Because you’ve never met anyone who understood,” he replied. “Really, truly _understood_ who you are.”

“That’s not true.” I shook my head. “I have.” 

“Who?” 

It was easy to pretend the steam made my eyes water.

“See? I even know who you’re thinking of,” Robert continued. “And in a strange way, his being gone is probably why I’m here. He’d want you to be with someone who understood you, wouldn’t he?”

I dipped my head beneath the water and stayed there until the pain passed. When I reemerged, Robert was still waiting for answer.

“Sure,” I lied.

“Well, then. There you go.” He picked up his camera and removed the cartridge from the bottom compartment. “I promise to never stop seeing you, Ana.”

I sucked my bottom lip between my teeth and bit down.

“Stay. There’s food in the icebox. I’m going to the red room—I want to develop this—but I’ll be back soon enough.” Robert came over and kissed my head. “Be as sad as you want.”

“Okay.”

When he’d gone—the door closed behind him and his footsteps no longer resounding on the landing outside—I took my hands out of the water and twisted my ring around my finger. Around and around and around.

_Happy Birthday, Tommy_ . 

.+.

On my way back into the girl’s residence, I was stopped by a familiar voice. 

“It’s midnight, Ana.” Michael leaned against the brick facade in his three-piece, smoking a cigarette. “ _Late._ ” 

“I was visiting a friend. Why are you here?” 

“You’re off until after Christmas. I came to pick you up.” His French inhale was second nature by this point. “Take you home.” 

“If that’s the case, you should’ve called. I’m staying here during the break.” 

Michael flicked his cigarette onto the stone ground. “You haven’t been home since—”

“Don’t need a history lesson, Michael. I know.” 

He leveled me with a hard stare. “You still have a family, Ana.” 

“Never said I didn’t.” 

“You might act like it, then.” 

“Fuck off,” I groaned. “Let’s not pretend you’re not here for selfish reasons.” 

He came off of the wall. “What could th ose be, huh?” 

“Do they still keep you out of the company?” I asked. “Do you still feel like an outsider? Well… I don’t see what I could do to change that. Tommy said you were out and, unfortunately, he died without ever saying you were _in_. Therefore, _out_ is where you’ll find yourself.” 

“I’ll be in again. Only a matter of time. That’s not why I’m here.” He stepped forward. “I’m after _you_ , Ana. You’re running away.” 

“I’m right here.” 

“You’re _not_. You said you would go with him and you have!” Michael exclaimed. “You don’t even see Ada and she’s right down the street!” 

I held my hands up to my head. “I don’t want to argue, Michael!” 

“That! That’s weird, Ana! Not like you at all.” 

As I went to pass  by  him, he took my arm. “Let go.”

“Never.” He tugged until I was standing in front of him. “They all suffer. My mother. Arthur. John. Yours is not a special case.”

I  forced down the urge to spit. “You don’t know what it’s like for me.” 

“I do.” Michael leaned forward. “I know who he was to you.” 

“You don’t.” 

“I always did.” His eyes glossed over and his brows set into a stiff line. “I remember standing outside of your wagon the night of John’s wedding…” 

I’d been attempting to pull my arm from his grip, but at those words I  went still . 

“I remember hearing the two of you…” Michael trailed off. “Remember feeling like I was burning alive.” 

Now, I tore away from him. “Stop talking.” 

“I know it’s hard,” he said. “But if you don’t stop running, one day you’re going to look up and find you’ve left behind everyone who ever loved you.” 

“Tell them I’m sick.” I waved my hand as I turned away from him. “Tell them I couldn’t come. Tell them whatever you want.” 

Without waiting, I went into the girls’ residence. 

.+.

** 18 Months Later **

Robert carried my bags all the way to the train. “You’ll call as soon as you’re settled?” 

“Yes.” I tugged on my lace gloves one-at-a-time. “Give those to an attendant. _Hurry, hurry._ ” 

He passed off the luggage to a footman in red livery, then strode over to one of the entrances  and held  out his hand .  “Up you get.” 

“Thank you.” I stepped off of the platform, onto the train. 

“If only the exhibition weren’t on Saturday—”A high-powered whistle cut through his speech. “Will you wait for me to tell them?” 

“No.” The train jostled and I gripped the nearest railing. “Best I do the talking. You don’t speak Brummy, yet.” _Or Shelby._

“I’m looking forward to meeting them. Take care of yourself, will you, Ana?” His brows pulled up in the middle, as they often did.

“Don’t worry.” I bent down and laid a lingering kiss on his full lips. “Birmingham is the safest place in the world for me.” 

“ _Sir!_ ” One of the servicemen called. He was waving Robert away from the train. 

“Monday!” Robert yelled over the engine, backing away. “Three days!”

I waved. “Three days.” 

.+.

My first stop? The betting shop. 

S tepp ing off the train,  I initially thought to visit The Garrison. Warm whiskey. Familiar faces. Another excuse to drink.  But, no.

I would go after the business was done. 

A Wednesday afternoon meant bustling bodies swarming the open doors and bettors (soon to be debtors) placing bets on Thursdays races. Inside the establishment, the commotion was even worse. Shouting, arguing, coins bouncing onto tabletops and  _ jingling _ inside of cloth bags. 

I spotted a familiar head of red hair hunched over a nearby desk. 

“Finn?” 

He whipped around.  “Ana?” 

When he rose to his full height, he nearly met my eye. “Since when are you this tall?” 

Finn grinned, ran a hand over his scalp. “It’s been awhile.”

“I know.” My guilt was subtle. You had to know my voice to hear it. “Where’s Arthur?” 

“Arthur ain’t been to work on a weekday since… Well, ‘e ain’t never.” 

“What about John?” I sent a cursory glance around the room. “Is he here?” 

“No. It’s just me and—”

“ _Ana._ ” 

We both turned at the sound of my name. Michael stood at the door to Tommy’s office, watching. 

“Michael.” 

His eyes remained fixated on my face, even as he took out a silver cigarette case from his pocket. “You’re back.” 

“I’m here to speak business,” I said.

“Will you stay?” Finn asked, his eyes boyishly wide. 

“A few days.” 

“I’m the Interim Director of Shelby Company Ltd. now. If there’s business to be spoken of, you can speak to me.” Michael stepped away from the door and held out his hand. “After you.” 

“This shouldn’t take long,” I said to Finn. “I’ll see you at the manor, eh?”

My little brother’s eyebrows drew down. “The manor? Ana—” 

“The manor has been boarded up,” Michael interjected. 

“Since when?” I asked. 

“If you’d been here, you’d know.” 

I held my tongue. Nodded. “Where do you stay, Finn?” 

“Here.” 

“Then I’ll see you later, okay?” 

“Okay, Ana.” He went back to his pile of coins. Then quickly turned back. “Glad you’re here.” 

I tugged his ear. “Me too.” As I approached Michael, he lit up a cigarette. “Mind if I have one?” 

“’Coarse not.” After entering the office, he shut the door behind us. “What’s mine is yours.” He handed over his cigarette, then went to the bar cart and held up a glass decanter of whiskey. “Drink?” 

“I’m off to The Garrison soon,” I said, already puffing away. The smoke was icy. _Menthols?_ “This’ll do. For now.” 

“You’ve graduated, haven’t you?” 

“Next week.” 

“What day?” After pouring himself two fingers, he placed the top back onto the liquor. “We’ll come.”

“That’s alright.”

“You don’t want us there?” He came around the desk. _Tommy’s_ desk. Sat down in the high-back leather chair. _Tommy’s_ chair. “You’re not that cold, Ana.”

“Come. Don’t come,” I said. “It’s not a big deal.” 

“It is. You’ve studied. You’ve done what none of us have.” Michael took a long sip of his drink. “We’ll celebrate. Have a party.”

“Don’t bother yourself.” 

“No bother at all.” 

“Well, in that case… Will I also be receiving a present?”

“What would you like?” 

“A job.” 

Michael smiled, said nothing. 

“Here,” I continued. “I want to work for the company.” 

He took another sip of his drink. “Is that so?” 

“Don’t play cat and mouse with me, Michael. I’ve been traveling. I don’t have the energy to chase you.”

“Was I supposed to immediately acquiesce? Say _yes_ because you’re family?” 

“Exactly. You’ve hit the nail squarely on the head.” I tapped the ash from my ciggy onto a nearby tray. “This isn’t an interview. As you said: I’ve done what none of you have. I went to school. I _studied_. Not only am I well read and well spoken, I’m also proficient in finance. I know you have a knack for numbers, but I’ll bet two-hundred pounds you couldn’t have passed my Economics final.” 

“You want to run our books?”

“Let’s start there. See what happens.”

Shrugging, he asked:  “What could happen?” 

“ _Anything,_ ” I answered. “Don’t be scared.” 

Michael  tossed his head back and let loose a laugh. His Adam’s apple bobbed roughly beneath the skin of his neck.  Once he’ d recovered, his eyes found mine. “Missed you, Ana.”

In the back corner of my mind, tucked away behind time and resentment, was the loft of St. Luke’s cathedral. Strolling alongside the Cut, eating  fried fish. Drinking ourselves into fits of laughter when we should’ve been in church. 

J ust there,  piled high  in the other corner, were his transgressions. Eton. His loyalty to business. His love for me. His jealousy of Tommy…

I missed the Michael in my memory.  The  _ boy.  _ Not the man. 

“Give me what I want,” I said. “Or I’ll take it.” 

“Haven’t changed a bit…” He leaned back in his seat. “I’m afraid I can’t say yes to such a request.” 

“Why not?” 

“It’s unreasonable.” Michael held out his hands. “A nineteen-year-old girl in charge of the company’s books?” 

I squinted. “Tommy brought you in t o handle the books when you were nineteen, Michael.” 

“That was different.” 

“I’ll bet it was,” I muttered, stamping out my cigarette. “I won’t argue with you.” 

“Good,” he said. 

“I’ll go to Arthur. Or Polly.” 

“You’ll find the same result. _I_ am the Interim Director.” He downed the rest of his drink. “My mother is resting her nerves and Arthur’s found happiness in the country. It’s my business. It’s my decision.” 

“It’s Tommy’s business,” I spat. “And what’s this? _Interim?_ Until when?” 

“Until certain holdings can be quietly exchanged and put under my name.” Michael set down his glass and stood. “I don’t know if you’ve accepted this…” He came around and leaned onto the wooden ledge in front of me. “Perhaps you stay away so you won’t have to…” 

I was already picking up my bag. “If you have something to say, I’d suggest you be quick.” 

“Tommy is dead.” He stared intently at my face, waiting for a reaction. “He isn’t coming back. Everything he owned _must go to someone_. Including you.” 

“Do you mean for me to hurt you?” I asked, standing up from my chair. 

“It’s the truth. Sorry if it doesn’t sound so good. I didn’t think I needed to dress it up for you.”

“I’ve never belonged to anyone but myself.” My eyes ran down his expensive suit. “If I were a set of holdings which could be ‘quietly exchanged and put under your name,’ wouldn’t my heart have been yours a long time ago?” I stepped closer to him. He could smell the menthol on my breath as surely as I could smell the whiskey on his. “I’m aware my brother is dead. I’m aware he isn’t coming back. I’m also aware—in the _truest_ sense—everything which was his is also mine. Including this company.”

The muscle in his jaw went haywire. “You know nothing about running a  business . Nothing about the underbelly.” His eyes flickered to my lips. “You couldn’t even pull the trigger when asked.”

“I’ll learn.” Turning, I made for the door. “You’re too comfortable, Michael. Much too comfortable…” 

“You’ll stay?” He sounded just like Finn. 

“Until Sunday. Then, when I come back from my ceremony, we can have that party you talked about.” I opened the door. “And you can meet my fiance.” 

.+.

T he Garrison could wait. Before anything else, I needed to know what Michael meant by  _ resting her nerves _ . 

My first knocks went unanswered. Eventually, I resorted to banging. When Polly opened the door, she held a pistol in one hand and a glass of red wine in the other. Her black shawl hung haphazardly from one shoulder.

“ _Oh,_ ” she drawled. “It’s you.” 

“Can I come in?” 

She took a poised sip of her drink. “I have company.” 

Just then, a manly voice called out: “ _ Pol? _ You coming?” 

“I need to speak to you,” I said. “Please.” 

Her eyes took in my entire body. Then, she sighed. “ Just  a moment,  Peter !” Polly stepped out onto the porch and shut the door behind her. “Be quick.” 

“What?” I asked. “You’re not happy to see me?” 

“Stopped waiting for you a _long_ time ago, Anabel. Now, what is it you wanted to speak about?”

“Michael.” My gaze flittered to her rose bushes. “He’s head of the company? Since when?” 

“Since Arthur couldn’t balance a ledger to save his life and John decided he liked knocking people’s teeth out more than sitting in an office.”

“What about you?” 

“What about me, sweetheart?” 

“Tommy made you his second for a reason. You’re… _Polly_. You could’ve run the company.” 

“I could also change my name to Sam and spend the rest of my days chasing after Charlie Chaplin.” Polly drained her glass. “I’m forty-nine. I have other things to live for.” 

“Why Michael? _Huh_?” I tugged a hand through my hair. “Why’d it have to be him?” 

“He’s family. He’s smart. More importantly, he was there. After Tommy’s death, there was a hole. Michael rose to fill it. Do you have a problem with that?” 

“I do,” I said. “And does he run the Peaky’s, as well?” 

“He handles the cash. Arthur and John still do the dirty work.” 

“Great.” I sighed. 

“Two years and that’s all you have to say?” Polly asked. 

“Wasn’t two years.” 

“Just about.” 

“Well… I’m here now.”

Polly smiled her thin smile. “ Yes. Anabel’s back. For how long? No one knows.”

“After my graduation, I’ll be here. For good.” I met her dark eyes. “I took a break and… Didn’t know how to come back.”

“I dreamt about you.” She was looking through me. “It was hard. Losing you and Tommy at the same time.” 

“I won’t do it again,” I said. “Promise.” 

“Best not.” Polly placed her hand onto my cheek. “Whatever you’re planning, good luck. Remember to leave me out of it.” 

“Sure.” 

After another moment, she disappeared back into the house. 

.+.

The Garrison was half-empty. Only the regulars were scattered about the place. As I sat down to the bar, a young woman approached. 

“What’ll you have?” she asked. 

“Where’s Fenton?” 

“Fenton?” Her eyebrows rose. “He died.” 

I stuck my tongue into my cheek. “When?” 

“Months back,” she said. “Drop dead in the middle of the bar, I heard.” 

“Everyone keeps dying,” I muttered. 

“Was he a friend of yours?” 

“Not really.” I held up two fingers. “Gin, please.” 

“’Course.” 

As she pulled a clear bottle from underneath the bar, the phone on the wall behind her started  _ ringing _ . 

“Make it four, actually.” My eyes followed the stream of clear liquid from one container to another. Meanwhile, my mind was occupied with other things. 

Two weeks and I would find my way into the company—somehow.  _ Beg. Borrow. Steal. Lie. Coerce. _ Whatever. I would find a way. But, even so, Michael would still make problems. Try to undermine my relationship with Robert, no doubt. 

_ Let him try _ , I thought. 

“Hello?” the girl behind the bar said into the receiver.

_ Three years. Three years and I’ll be sitting in Tommy’s chair. Not him _ . 

“Hold on.” She held the phone to her chest. “Ana?” 

My reverie was broken. “Yes?” 

“Telephone.” 

“Who is it?” 

“Didn’t say.” 

_Who else knew I was here but Michael?_ The girl lifted a panel of wood and I stepped behind the counter. 

“Here you go.” 

As she went to grab a rag, I brought the phone to my ear. “What is it? What do you want?” 

“Hello, Ana.” 

Imagine the sound a sheet of metal rending in half would make. That’s what I heard inside of my head. 

“You there, love?” 

There was no explanation. My brain struggled to comprehend. 

“It’s me.”

“To—”

“Don’t say my name out loud.”

_Riiiiiip_ goes the metal sheet inside my head. It was his voice. It was… It was him.

“Listen. Go to Charlie’s yard. Find Curly. He’ll bring you to me, alright?” 

“W—Where are you?” 

“A field in the middle of nowhere. Do what I say. Don’t speak to anyone, alright?” 

A moment passed. 

“Come on, Ana. I need you to say alright.” 

“ _Alright_ ,” I breathed. 

“Atta girl.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *TWO YEARS LATER* Imagine that! Next chapter is going to be intense, to say the least. I'm so excited. Do let me know your thoughts down below. Comments make my day. Thanks for reading and I'll see you soon!
> 
> xx
> 
> Amelia_Earhart


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